


Operation: Cuddlins

by Teland



Category: DCU (Comics), The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Backstory, Banter, Biting, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, F/M, Facials, First Time, Fisting, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Humor, Improvised Sex Toys, Incest, Light BDSM, M/M, Magic, Makeup, Pseudo-Incest, Rimming, Romance, Rough Oral Sex, Sounding, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-27 23:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 45,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30130413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: "Son, have you boys been treating the problem of me like a *campaign* you need to fight?""Well... yes?"Treville blinks.Jason *guffaws*."I -- were we not *supposed* to?"
Relationships: Amina (OC)/de Tréville, Aramis/Athos, Aramis/Jason Blood/Porthos, Aramis/Porthos/de Tréville, Athos | Comte de la Fère/Thomas (The Musketeers 2014), Athos | Comte de la Fère/de Tréville, Athos/Jason Blood, Jason Blood/de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires), Jason Blood/de Tréville/Porthos
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. He's definitely only happy for military reasons.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [naughtypixie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/naughtypixie/gifts), [the_Jack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_Jack/gifts).



> Disclaimers: *weak laugh*
> 
> Spoilers/Timeline: Vague references up through S3. Takes place pre-series.
> 
> Author's Note: Yet another story started forever ago, left to sit for months (years?), and then finished in a wild rush. I'm pretty sure I just wanted to do more with Athos. 
> 
> Acknowledgments: *Intense* love and gratitude to Pixie, Spice, and, of course, my Jack, for audiencing, typo-catching, laughing at the good bits, thrown objects, and holding my hand *so much*. Thank you.

An incomplete unit is a liability -- on a number of a levels. 

While the men of that unit can -- and will -- be used to shore up other units which have had their numbers slashed due to injuries and, of course, the many, many depredations and indignities of royalty who can never and *will* never understand the importance of letting regiments stay *whole* -- 

But Treville is not going to frustrate himself today. Today -- 

Today he's completing his *best* unit, the finest unit the King's Musketeers has *ever* fielded -- and even his beloved Reynard would have agreed with that assessment, however grudgingly and *violently*. 

Treville watches Louis -- who has *just* about grown into that unfortunate mange on his lip -- give the shining, grinning, *beaming* Porthos du Vallon his commission -- 

Watches Aramis and Athos look on with pride and thrill and *undisguised* relish for their future of warring for King, country, and the sheer bloody joy of it -- 

Today is an excellent day.


	2. Luxury is where you find it.

It's the third Saturday of the month, and Treville's godson is nothing if not punctilious -- he is here, in Treville's rooms in Paris, sharing a warm, friendly meal with him -- a *late* meal, because Treville absolutely could not get out of the palace until the afternoon, and thus couldn't leave the garrison until *night* -- 

Treville represses a growl -- 

"Please stop feeling guilty, sir," Athos -- not Olivier anymore, not even for Thomas, who is seducing a Duc's daughter tonight for schemes of his own, and will visit Treville later this week -- says, and sips his wine. 

Treville *looks* at Athos from over his own wine. 

Athos looks *back*, and, because he's not at all Olivier, the blush is only behind his beautiful eyes. 

Treville hums and toasts him. "All right. *Why* aren't I feeling guilty for keeping you away from your *brothers*, mm?" 

"Because Aramis and Porthos are *not* drinking this evening, sir," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow beneath his fringe. 

"I..." 

He raises it *very* high, but -- 

"Son, I would've *smelled* it if they'd started *fucking* --" 

Athos *coughs* -- 

"Ah, I see, they're fucking *other* people tonight --" 

"*Yes*, sir," Athos says, and *glares* at him. 

Treville winks at him. "You have to let me have my fun, son --" 

"I remain unconvinced about this --" 

"Then I'll simply have to redouble my efforts --" 

"Please don't," Athos says, and tosses back his wine *just* like his brothers had taught him. 

Treville sighs happily. "Will they be touring *Aramis's* favourite brothels or *Porthos's*?" 

"Mm. Aramis lost the coin-toss, and so they'll be visiting Aramis's *mother's* brothel --" 

Treville *coughs* -- 

"... and then... pacifying some small portion of the docks." 

Treville *snickers* -- 

And Athos grins at him with sly happiness. 

"Oh, son, you realize I feel even *more* guilty for keeping you away from your brothers *now*, don't you?" 

"*Sir* --" 

"Where's your sense of *adventure*?" 

"Oddly enough? *Outside* of my trousers." 

"Mm. Speaking of --" 

"Please don't --" 

"I was just speaking with --" 

"I'm going to toss this very good wine in your face --" 

"Your..." 

Athos hefts the *bottle* of wine as if he plans to *club* Treville with it -- 

Treville wheezes and snickers precisely like the arsehole he *is*, and says not one blessed word about Athos's adventures in, near, on, around, and with his younger brother, all of which Treville's *nose* has been privy to since his godsons were fourteen and thirteen, respectively. 

He toasts Athos again, instead, and gestures the stand-down. 

"I don't *trust* you, sir."

"That wounds me, truly --" 

"I... hm." 

"Mm?" 

Athos sets the bottle down and gives Treville a *studying* look, a -- 

Truly, it's a *dissecting* look, and... 

"Son?" 

"Sir..." 

"I'm listening, son. What's wrong?" 

"I... is this..." And Athos's gesture takes in the two of them, Treville's very warm and comfortable sitting room, and -- perhaps -- the run of every last one of their private conversations. 

"Yes...?" 

"Is this what you *have*, sir?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"Sir, you -- our *pack* is down to just you, Thomas, and *me*. And -- when Thomas isn't gathering intelligence for you, *I'm* usually on a *mission* for you," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Treville blinks. "Son... mortality is *precisely* what it --" 

"What of Jason? What... please." 

"Mm?" 

"Please tell me you *have* this with him. This -- this *freedom*. This -- you know whereof I *speak*, sir!" 

Treville frowns. "Son..." 

"Oh, sir, I -- I can't forgive myself for not *thinking* --" 

"Stop. Stop right there --" 

"I will not *have* you be *alone* --" 

"What you *won't* do is *throw* yourself on my social calendar like it's a *bomb* threatening a royal *personage*." 

"I." 

Treville raises an eyebrow. 

"Hm. I... suppose that *is* where... hm." 

Treville nods, and tosses back his own wine before pouring for both of them. "Jason and I are *very* good friends -- and rather more than that, *as you already know*. We do, in fact, converse a great *deal* like this, and? When Louis is *not* commanding every last moment of my time, I am enjoying myself *immensely* fighting the left-handed war at Jason's *side*." 

"Oh -- true." 

Treville inclines his head. 

"I had thought..." 

"Mm?" 

This time, the blush makes it onto Athos's face. 

Treville raises an eyebrow. 

"It's only... you're *always* available to *me*, sir. I... rather made assumptions." 

Treville laughs ruefully and shakes his head, reaching across the small table to stroke Athos's beard, just a little. 

"Oh --" 

"Athos. What did your *father* say on this subject, mm?" 

Athos blinks -- and then nods thoughtfully. "That... he wouldn't have predicted it when he was a boy, or even a young man, but that there was a particular and particularly *fine* luxury to being able to *wallow* in time spent with one's -- children." 

Treville inclines his head. "While I've had cause to disagree with how luxury is *often* defined by our fellows among the gentry... I've *rarely* had cause to disagree with such notions among our fellow *soldiers*, son." 

"Yes, sir -- I will take your lesson." 

Treville rumbles. "You always do."


	3. Remember, kids: self-torture does *not* have to be boring!

The dog in Treville is, in many ways, infinitely more intelligent than any other part of him. This has been the case since that very first night, when they had stood together in the Circle, knowing and known, messy-mouthed with every *possible* fluid of their own and their Amina-mate's, hungry and *hungry* -- 

When they had *stood*, and Treville had had no bloody clue what the hell he was supposed to *do* with the massive -- and massively *erect* -- dog-cock he suddenly had -- 

But the dog inside him was already lifting the dazed and *growling*, moaning and *snarling*, smiling and *hungry* Amina into his arms -- 

Carrying her *out* of the Circle -- 

Yes -- 

*Yes* -- 

Treville had, eventually, figured *out* what he was supposed to be doing, but -- 

There just hadn't been time to *ask* Amina if she'd been able to *tell* that he *hadn't* figured it out until after she'd spurted all over his cock -- the first time -- 

If she'd known that inside he was still *gibbering* like a *fool* even as everything *animal* in him was driving him on and on and in and *in* -- 

Oh, Amina... 

And this is, perhaps, *one* of the reasons why the dog has never once wavered from the opinion that Treville is too simple to care for himself. 

He's sitting here, in the accursed little box he calls an office, brooding on lost love instead of doing a single blessed thing about his current situation. 

His current *painfully predictable* situation. To wit: 

Ever since the *prior* third-Saturday-of-the-month with Athos, Athos's *unit* as a *whole* -- and *Thomas* -- have been all but *sitting* on him. 

Thomas -- 

Thomas had *stayed* in Treville's *rooms* for nearly an entire *week* -- and that... 

Well, Thomas *is* Treville's godson, and, despite *everything* about the boy's affect, has developed a reputation as a womanizer. 

Frankly, his affect -- and *obviously* passionate relationship with his suspiciously *continent* brother -- had made it *necessary* for Thomas to dip his wick in as many women as possible as *publicly* as possible to keep them all from being bloody *hanged*. 

It was bad *enough* that Treville is exactly who he is, and had *been* exactly who he'd been --there was only so much scouring of Treville's reputation which *could* be done before Laurent could move the very spheres themselves into just the right positions for Treville to be chosen as Captain, and -- 

And. 

It wasn't *as* bad as it could've been to have Thomas with him for that long -- in truth, it had been bloody wonderful. 

Treville had enjoyed every *second* of it!

Just as he'd enjoyed every second of Aramis staying late at the garrison to ask Treville's advice about his swordplay -- 

And every second of Athos staying late for tales of Laurent -- 

And -- 

And Porthos, of course. 

Of *course*. 

And it's worse that he'd enjoyed every second of helping Porthos with his shooting as the sun went down and the moon rose, worse that he'd stayed right there at his side and took in all his wonderful scents of clean sweat and male and *gunpowder*, because -- 

*Because*, by the time it *was* Porthos's turn... Treville had *finally* figured out what was going on. 

Had finally been able to look past his own desperate, hungry *pleasure* -- 

But not able to look past it *enough*. 

(I wonder *why*...) And Jason *fills* Treville with wry good humour and *gentle* teasing. 

Treville sighs and puts his face in his hands. I don't deserve that. 

(Oh, *I'm* sorry. Let me just get the spiked flail I keep around to remind myself that I'm an absolute pillock...) 

Spiked -- do you *really*? Even though it was a bloody spiked flail that *ruined your entire human existence*? 

Jason looks at him. Hard. From across whatever unknowable distance separates them -- 

Treville licks his lips, but -- Serious question, lover. That's -- that's some remarkable dedication to self-torture. 

(So we *are* going to talk about you wearing *your* self-flagellation as your -- excuse me, your *father's* -- *facial* hair?) 

Treville opens his mouth -- 

*Closes* his mouth -- 

You have to admit that it's very attractive facial hair. 

(It *truly* is, amant. Your self-abuse commends you *just* as much as everything else about you.) 

Thank you *very* much -- 

(Don't disdain the gifts your sons give you.) 

I'm not -- they can't just -- *they're* not -- 

Jason looks at him. 

This time, he's using a steadily-increasing weight of *age* -- 

It feels like having a massive, heated *stone* pressed on his chest -- 

Right, well, I'm listening. 

(Thank. You. Don't disdain the gifts your sons give you.) 

But -- 

(If *nothing* else, amant, kindly remember how *very* much you longed to do everything *possible* to ease the cares and troubles *you* could discern for *Laurent*.) 

*But* -- 

(*Before* he was fucking your arse into that delightful new shape.) 

Treville blinks -- 

Frowns -- 

And then nods. I... suppose I *did* talk about that. 

(Some little, yes. Mostly? We discussed what a *magnificently* impressive superior officer Laurent was, to you and *for* you, from the very *beginning* -- and just what that *did* to you. What that built *in* you.) And Jason's eyebrow raise is just as tangible as it should be. 

You're saying that I shouldn't be assuming that... things *like* that wouldn't be just as affecting for -- 

(Your. Sons.) 

Treville winces. I already think of them that way -- 

(Precisely as much as you *should*, amant. There is *no* grand universal prize awarded to the man who does the very best job of denying his deepest, truest emotions. But...?) 

And that... Treville laughs hard. 

(Yes...?) 

Laurent said, more than once... 'There is no success without striving.' I found myself wondering what, precisely, I *should* be striving for in this moment, lover. 

(Well. You could *consider* striving for a friendlier *disposition*.) 

But what the hell would *you* do with me then? 

(Are you trying to *imply* something, amant?) 

I would *never*. 

(Because I can and *will* perfume my arse-crack like you've mentioned catching hints of on your Aramis --) 

*Fuck* -- don't -- 

(I'll use something *sweet* and *soft* and *flowery* --) 

*Jason* -- 

(And? I'll make myself stop sweating for *days*.) 

Treville growls helplessly -- 

Jason laughs *hard*. 

You're an arse, lover. 

(And you, amant, are my two *very* favourite hounds.)


	4. Athos might need a minute.

There are times when Treville considers doing... something about -- 

About *it*. 

About the fact that *he* has been *adopted* by his *men*. 

About the fact that *Athos* stayed the night on his most recent Saturday, that they'd had a late breakfast on Sunday, that Athos had ridden in with him, that he'd slotted himself into Treville's honour guard on the impromptu call to the palace -- 

That he's here, now, riding back with him instead of being anywhere else, smiling faintly and warmly as he studies their perimeter. 

It had been the most natural thing in the world to dismiss everyone else -- 

To *allow* for these moments -- 

But. 

*Part* of not *disdaining* a gift is *acknowledging* it. 

So, time to be a man -- or, at the very least, as respectable a dog as the one who lives inside him. 

The dog makes them *both* rumble in approval -- 

Athos glances at him -- "Yes, sir?" 

"Mm. Thinking about you, son -- and your unit, and Thomas," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Athos blushes -- and sits his horse like he means to take on the entire Spanish host *while* making them all feel grubby and small -- 

Treville grins helplessly. "At ease, son." 

"Sir --" 

"I want you to know -- I've loved every second of your program." 

"I -- we don't want to stop." 

Treville raises an eyebrow. "Which of those, son?" 

"*Both*. Aramis, Porthos -- they've been *jealous* of the time the two of us spend together --" 

Treville blinks -- 

"And Thomas has always been looking for an *excuse* to spend more time with you --" 

"He doesn't -- *why* did he think he *needed* one?" 

Athos smiles *wryly* at him, and -- 

Treville is horrified. "Are you saying -- *you* thought you needed an excuse, son?" 

"Less so, once I had my commission --" 

"Oh, *son* --" 

"But yes." 

Treville growls *helplessly*, and he's absolutely antagonizing his poor, placid Lisle -- she knows as little about the dog in him as he can *manage* -- but he can't *stop* for long moments -- 

"Oh, sir --" 

"*Son* --"

"I -- I know better now --" 

"That was a *lie*," Treville says, and he's *snarling* -- 

Lisle is starting to *shy* -- 

Athos's Actaeon is snorting and tossing his great head -- 

"*Please*, sir, I promise that I am coming to *understand* better. You -- you want to spend time with me. With -- all of us." 

"Of bloody course I do!" 

"You -- enjoy us." 

"*Yes*, son --" 

"Even -- even when we're only asking you to teach us, or --" Athos shakes his head once. "We want more of you, sir. We were being *cautious* before. We didn't want to *presume*. But -- you *want* us close to you. It -- it's *clear*." 

Treville blinks --

Lifts his *nose* -- 

And Athos laughs quietly. "All right, yes, it's clear more to *Aramis* and *Thomas* than it is to *me*, but -- I trust their judgment," he says, and smiles ruefully at Treville. "I trust them, and I remember how I used to all but lash myself *down* within the fastnesses of my own *mind* to keep from *throwing* myself at you when I was younger, because it was *unseemly* to do anything of the kind with the man who was only paying my father's respects and offering the training he could out of the goodness of his *heart* -- please don't terrorize your horse anymore, sir, it *truly* isn't her fault that I was a fool --" 

Treville coughs a laugh -- 

Athos smiles wonderingly -- 

"Oh, son, I -- wait," Treville says, and *breathes* -- 

And *breathes* -- 

And bloody well calms himself down so that he can calm his *Lisle* down. It doesn't take much -- he'd *chosen* Lisle for her unflappability in the face of *him*, but... well, that's just it. 

He's been too bloody well-behaved these past years. 

He'd lulled her into a false sense of security. 

(Hmph. Cad.) 

Kindly fellate a wildebeest, lover. 

(I suppose the smell won't be any worse...) 

Treville snorts *hard* -- 

And Jason's presence dims once more with a warm, loving, and *proud* caress. 

Treville hums and turns back to Athos. "That was Jason, yanking my chain *just* a little." 

"Yes? Have you been... speaking more? Lately?" 

"We have, as a matter of fact. He *highly* approves of how you boys have been handling me." 

Athos positively beams. "Good. *Good*." 

"Yes, son?" 

"When Jason's name came up while we were strategizing, Aramis expressed worries that he would prove himself jealous of your time and attentions, even after I assured him that Jason was a truly honourable man --" 

"That..." 

"Mm?" 

"Son, have you boys been treating the problem of me like a *campaign* you need to fight?" 

"Well... yes?" 

Treville blinks. 

Jason *guffaws*. 

"I -- were we not *supposed* to?" 

"I..." 

"Sir." 

Athos... Athos was raised by *four* Musketeers. 

More to the point, Athos was raised Marie-Angelique Leandres de la *Fère*. 

At this late date, it's entirely possible that Athos treats absolutely everything in his *life* like a military campaign in progress, up to and including the continuing and thorough debauch of his little brother. 

...

Treville didn't actually need more images of that in his mind. 

Jason laughs even *harder* -- 

You're going to remind me of this train of thought. Aren't you. 

(Oh, amant. You should be *happy* in this moment!) 

*Why*? 

(Because you even manage to be charming when you're stating the *blisteringly* obvious.) 

Treville pinches the bridge of his nose -- 

"*Sir* --" 

"At ease, son. I realize, belatedly, that it would be *terrifically* strange for you to *not* treat absolutely everything in your life like a military campaign." 

Athos frowns at him. 

Treville drops his hand and smiles ruefully. "Let's recall what my own childhood looked like, mm?" 

"I -- I *wanted* what you had!" 

"I know." 

"I wanted -- I would've done *anything* to go on campaign with all of you --" 

"I know." 

"And -- what are you saying, sir?" 

"I'm saying, son, that -- *perhaps* -- if you *had* gotten your wish? If you'd gotten to spend *years* on campaign with all of us? You might've grown up with slightly more respect of and desire *for* doing things in other *ways*." 

Athos blinks.

"Which is not to say you'd have any *aptitude* for doing things in other ways --" 

Athos *coughs* -- 

"I am *pathetic* when I try to be anything *but* a soldier --" 

"I had *noticed*, sir --" 

"*Good*. But?" 

"You can still..." Athos winces. "Porthos and Thomas wanted us to take a slightly less militaristic approach to this." 

"You and Aramis ran them over...?" 

"Like carters in the street." 

Treville snorts. "Well, I know *Thomas* will take it out of you in trade, but...?" 

"Porthos has demanded the right to choose the brothels for the past three weeks."

"Hm. Aramis *has* seemed a bit jumpier lately...?" 

Athos smiles slyly. "Porthos has always preferred his ladies -- and gentlemen, and everyone in between -- of custom --" 

"I love you boys so much. Go on." 

Athos grins at him -- and ducks his head for a moment before humming and checking their perimeter once more. "He has always preferred a prostitute who can -- and I am, of course, quoting --" 

"Of course, of course." 

Athos clears his throat -- "'They should either put hair on a man's bollocks or shave it *off* with the knives under their pillows.'" 

Treville laughs *hard*. 

"Quite." 

"Oh, son, I..." 

"Mm?" 

"It's unconscionable for about a million reasons that I can't have all of you *and* all of my first pack in one place, but --" Treville grins and shakes his head. "*Trust* me when I say that Porthos and your Uncle Reynard shared a certain taste in whores." 

Athos blinks. "That..." 

Treville raises an eyebrow and leads them into the stables he keeps by his rooms in Paris. "Yes, son?" 

Athos frowns for long moments before dismounting -- and after, *obviously* thinking hard. 

Treville leaves him to it, and unpins his cock enough to flirt *lightly* with the stableboys, none of whom have ridden his cock even once, because he's the Captain now, *damnit* -- 

The boys giggle and tease and lead Lisle and Actaeon away -- 

Athos is still *frowning* -- but he steps into place beside Treville as they move across the street -- 

And he nods *very* correctly to Alaire -- 

And he frowns -- 

And he *frowns* -- 

And he frowns all the way to the study, where a very nervous Porthos is waiting for them -- and pretending not to be nervous. 

Treville smiles helplessly, clasping Porthos's forearm and gripping his shoulder -- 

"It's just -- you know -- and I was thinking..." 

"Mm?" 

Porthos stares at Treville like Treville is pointing at least four cannons and one of Reynard's favourite whores at him, though --

That actually might improve his mood, considering. Still -- 

Treville *can* make this easier. Absolutely all of this. "At ease, son. I'm happy to see you -- and happy to see you *here*," Treville says, and grins *exactly* as much as he wants to. And... 

The last time Treville had seen anything like that smile on Porthos's face... he was getting his commission. 

(*See*?) 

I -- I -- 

(Belt *up*.) 

Right you are, lover. I'll just -- ah... 

(Belt up?) 

Exactly. That thing right there. What the bloody *hell* -- 

(If it helps, think about how Laurent felt the first time he realized that bright, wild shine in your eyes had everything to do with *him* -- and absolutely nothing to do with anything or anyone else.) 

*Fuck*. *That* is one of the things... 

(You wanted to ease for him...? The... oh, let's see if I can come up with the right phrase... the *pressures* of *command*.) 

That I was busily putting *on* him -- 

(And making him hard as stone...) 

I... hm. 

(Yes, do think about that.) 

While I'm belting up? 

(Oh, yes.) 

Treville sighs happily. I'd love you even if you dipped your cock in rosewater, you know. 

(Yes, but *I* wouldn't love me anymore, so let's just avoid it.) 

Anything you say, Treville says, and focuses on the world *outside* of himself again -- 

And finds Porthos searching his face curiously -- 

And Athos continuing to *frown*. 

Treville barks a laugh, squeezes Porthos's forearm one more time, steps *back*, and gestures to the various chairs and couches. 

"Right you are, sir, but... you were talking to your Jason?" 

(I like him already...) 

"That I was, son. He was being an *arse* -- and making me very, very happy." 

"That's uh. Usual for him, eh?" And Porthos waggles his eyebrows and unceremoniously *steers* the frowning Athos toward the couch across from the fire, sits him down, and then sits next to him. 

Treville grins *more* and takes his usual throne -- his father's thoroughly-battered chair, which is precisely massive enough to fit the man his father had been, and which will always, always feel just a little bit like the man's hugs. And will, in this moment, allow him to see both of his boys just fine. But -- 

"It absolutely *is* usual for him, Porthos. Jason knows -- with *crystalline* clarity -- that the best way to pull me out of my various *stupidly* bad moods is to prod me with sharp sticks until I'm laughing so hard that I remember who I'm supposed to *be*." 

"I like *that*!" 

"So do I, son," Treville says, and -- yes. 

He doesn't know precisely *how* Alaire has this room under surveillance, but he absolutely does, and so, now that they're all seated... 

Justine sashays and flounces in, beaming and teasing and flirting and offering large amounts of brandy -- and *everything* else -- to... Porthos, who laughs hard and *blushes* -- and pretends to *not* be checking to make sure that his *Captain* isn't about to murder him. 

Athos is just too distracted for the full force of her tonight. 

Treville shakes his head. "We'll see if we can wake him up later, lass." 

Justine sighs gustily -- and breastily -- and flashes her ankles all the way out the door. 

Once she's gone, Treville waits until Porthos has placed a half-full brandy in the -- frowning -- Athos's hand, and then he toasts his boys. "Questions?" 

Porthos snorts. "You *know* what my questions are, sir!" 

"That I do, and the answer is -- mostly -- a simple one." 

"Yeah?" 

Treville inclines his head. "You remember what I told you about my father, son?" 

"Oh -- yeah! He won nobility for your family. He was a common soldier and all," Porthos says, and nods, eyes wide and excited. "You -- it was *really* clear that you looked up to him like no one else." 

"Mm. A *part* of me will *always* want to *be* him, son. Case in point..." And Treville lets his gesture take in the whole of the house. "My father didn't live to buy this property -- as opposed to the de Tréville properties outside of Paris -- but he *highly* resented *having* to buy those properties. Having to raise a huge, draughty *manor* house, when all he'd ever wanted was the money to have a nice, warm cottage with good stables attached." 

"Oh... yeah?" 

Treville nods -- and grins. "So -- and he said this *far* more than once -- if he *did* have to put up with having a manor house? Then he would *damned* well run it *exactly* like a tavern." 

Porthos's jaw drops -- 

Treville raises his eyebrows -- 

And Porthos laughs loud, laughs hard, laughs *big* -- 

There is *no* part of Treville which isn't drinking it in. Treville toasts him again and drinks. "But your other question, son?" 

Porthos laughs *more* -- "*Fine*. What the bloody hell did you do to *Athos*? I mean, sometimes he gets right focused -- it's what he *does* -- but come *on*!" 

Treville laughs quietly and bites the tip of his tongue -- 

"*Tell* me --" 

Treville *checks* on his -- frowning -- godson -- 

"Aww --" 

"I *told* Athos -- and you must understand that the conversation had *absolutely* led to this very moment --" 

"Right, right -- *what* did you tell him?" 

"That the *particular* whores *you* liked the most?" 

Porthos *chokes* -- 

"Had a *great* deal in common with the whores his Uncle *Reynard* liked the most --" 

"Uhh..." 

"And that it was *unconscionable* that I couldn't have all of you all at *once*. With the unspoken implication that we would, of course, all go out whoring *together*," Treville says, and lets his tongue peek a *bit* obnoxiously. 

Porthos stares at him. 

Athos -- Treville checks -- frowns. That. 

"Athos. Son." 

"No." 

Treville coughs. "*Son* --" 

"*No*." 

Treville *snickers* -- "No *what*? What are you *thinking* about over there?" 

"*No*!" 

"Just to put this out there," Porthos says -- 

"Porthos --" 

"I'm going to wager that he's thinking about going whoring with you, sir." 

"*Damn it*." 

"And... his Uncles? Yes? No?" And Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

Athos tosses back his brandy. 

Treville leans over and pours more for him. 

Athos scowls. 

"You know." 

"Porthos, do *not* --" 

"Mate, you *have* to admit that it's *reasonable* for your big, tough soldier-Uncles to *want* to take you whoring. I mean. It's what soldiers *do*, innit?" 

Athos tosses back his brandy. 

Treville leans over and pours more for him. 

"Here, let me just --" And Porthos tosses back *his* brandy. "Oi, that's really good!" 

"Thank you, son -- it's my favourite," Treville says, and pours more for *him*. 

"Nice, that. Anyway, Athos --" 

Athos tosses back his brandy. 

"I didn't even *say* anything that time, brother!" 

"You. Were going to," Athos says, and holds out his glass.

Treville pours more for him and turns to Porthos. "I should say -- *Thomas* let us take him out whoring." 

"*Really*." 

"Mm. Every week for *months*." 

"Uh. With..." And Porthos's eyes are wide -- 

And he's trying *very* hard not to look at Athos -- 

And his *hands* seem to be trying very hard not to *gesture*...

Treville, who is absolutely an arse, pulls on a bland expression and raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos snorts *hard*. "*Sir*!" 

Treville snickers. "Twice a week sometimes, son. With *women* -- and *only* women." 

"Right, uh..." And Porthos turns to Athos. "Look, brother, you've *told* us that Thomas fucks women all the time, and I know you don't *lie* to me --" 

"He told me that he enjoys the physicality of it, and the way it furthers his various *agendas*. He told me that he's not *entirely* certain that there *isn't* a woman in the world whom he could love as the vast majority of men seem to love women, but... ah..." 

"He *is* entirely certain that there *isn't* a woman he could love as much as he loves *you*?" 

Athos blushes, flushes, and *sweats*. 

"Right," Porthos says, and turns back to Treville. "So what you're saying is that he went to all those ladies of custom for *pointers*." 

"When we discussed it..." 

Athos stares at him. 

Treville laughs quietly. "When Thomas and I discussed it -- as obliquely as I could manage to make the discussion, because Thomas was *thirteen*, and his *father* was my *commanding officer* and *both* of his parents were my *lovers* --" 

Porthos *coughs* -- 

"When we *discussed* it? Thomas told me that 'desperate times most assuredly called for the most desperate of measures' and that, without explicit communication in *any* direction from the person he loved, needed, desired, and respected most..." And Treville raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos nods. "It was up to *him* to... uh. Drive the conversation...?" 

Treville spreads his hands, then looks to Athos. 

Porthos *also* looks to Athos. 

Athos tosses back his brandy. 

Treville snorts. "Son." 

"'s all right, sir. He's got another three or four before he starts drooling. More if you feed him. I mean, assuming this stuff isn't too much stronger than our usual." 

"*Right*. Come on, we're going to my sitting room while you can both still walk," Treville says, tossing back his own brandy and standing. 

Porthos follows suit and *hauls* Athos up -- 

"I might eventually object to --" 

"Yeah, but then you'd have to *communicate*, brother. We know, now, that it takes acting like a whore to get *that* out of you." 

Athos stares at something behind his own eyes. For quite some time. 

Treville leaves him to it and gestures Porthos to follow -- 

"Right you are, sir. I'll just uh... steer..." 

"You do that, son." 

And once they're on the stairs -- 

"Say..." 

"Yes, son?" 

"Care to place any bets on what Athos is thinking on now?" 

Bets, mm? Treville grins. 

"*That* looks like --" 

"Like I'm thinking about what you do to supplement your income, son...?" 

"Uhh..." 

Treville barks a laugh. "How the men whimper and *moan* about what you do to them with your dice and cards," he says, and shakes his head. "Well done, son." 

"Uh. Thank you?" 

Treville claps Porthos's shoulder again. "Use every weapon at your disposal, son. I'll say it a million times." 

"*Yes*, sir. But --" 

"I *could* be wrong," Treville says, leading them into the sitting room, where someone -- let's call him Alaire -- has already lit all the wall-sconces. 

The light gleams mellowly on all the weapons, and Treville breathes deeply and relaxes even as Porthos looks around rather bemusedly. 

"The weapons belonged to my father and his favoured lieutenants, son. The sitting room in the manor has even more of those weapons, because *that* is where my father most often bedded down when he was home. *With* his lieutenants." 

"Uhh..." 

Treville yips and gestures to the small, round table. "His lieutenants dedicated their weapons to him after he passed. These sitting rooms... they're his true grave. Far more than any plot of dirt." 

Porthos nods and puts Athos in a chair before putting himself in one. "Got it, sir. But you were saying? What could you 'be wrong' about?" 

Treville tugs the bell-pull to let Cook know -- as if Alaire hadn't already -- that they're going to need a large amount of food and wine, and then *he* sits down and nods to Athos, who is continuing to stare. "I *believe* he's thinking about you acting like a whore with him, son." 

Porthos opens his mouth -- and closes it again. "He *could* be thinking about *Aramis* acting like a whore with him, sir." 

Athos makes a small, choked noise. 

Porthos raises his eyebrows. 

Treville frowns judiciously and strokes his beard. "He *could* be thinking about Aramis acting like the kind of whore *you* favour with him --" 

Athos breaks out in a sweat. 

To be fair, so does Porthos. 

Treville laughs *hard* -- 

"Right, sir, laugh it up, but just *try* to tell me you'd have *any* sodding aplomb if Aramis shoved his bloody *hunting* knife in your bloody *wall* and showed his bloody *teeth* at you while he was riding your *cock*." 

Treville... sweats. 

"'s what I *thought*," Porthos says, tilting his chair back on two legs and ruffling Athos's hair.


	5. The collation is key.

Jason is laughing at him. 

Jason is -- well, he seems to be having the time of his life deep in their shared soul-space, because he's doing bloody horrible things like covering the *mostly*-naked fantasy-Aramis sharing the space with them in various pieces of cursed and possessed arms and armor and making him do and say pornographically violent things with, at, on, near, and to them. 

The glowing green mail skirt isn't doing anything for *any* of their complexions, but -- 

(It's *practical*!) 

Treville *looks* at Jason. 

(As if you *don't* wish to cherish that cock...) 

I -- 

(I would like to point out just how *many* memories you *have* of that cock -- and from how many *angles* the images come --)

Look --

(And in how many stages of *tumescence* --) 

All *right* -- wait. 

(Yes...?)

How much time do you *spend* rifling through my memories?

(More than you spend rifling through *mine*,) Jason says, and sounds *offended*, which -- 

I would like to point out that *I* have significantly fewer memories of *devouring* my sexual partners.

(Well, whose fault is that?) 

Treville wheezes -- 

"You know," Porthos drawls, just a little, "if I were a different sort of person entirely, I would take horrible advantage of you gentry types disappearing into your heads like this," he says, raising his eyebrows and balancing his chair on its back legs. 

"Treville would catch you," Athos says, and then dives right back behind his eyes. 

"I appreciate that vote of confidence, son." 

Athos's eyes dilate slightly. There's absolutely no other response. 

*Porthos* laughs hard again, *big* again -- 

Treville shakes his head and grins at Justine, who is sashaying in with a tray of wine and -- thankfully -- water. 

This time, Porthos manages to flirt quite fluently with her -- though just as kindly and *respectfully* as a Musketeer always should. 

Justine bumps his shoulder with her hip as she turns to walk out the door -- 

Porthos flares his nostrils with a grin -- but frowns slightly once she's gone. 

"Yes, son?" And Treville pours for the three of them. 

"No, I -- I guess I was expecting a little perfume. And now that I've *said* that *aloud*..." Porthos smiles ruefully at *him*. "There isn't one single *drop* of perfume in this whole *house*, is there?" 

Treville pushes Porthos's and Athos's glasses across the table, then toasts Porthos with his own. "Not a one. I have to suffer through far too much of it when I'm *not* here." 

"*Got* it, sir," Porthos says, toasting him back and drinking -- 

Athos... waves his glass vaguely and then tosses his wine back *precisely* like a man who means to be significantly more drunk than he already is as quickly as humanly possible.

Treville snickers. 

"Is he like this all the *time* with you?" 

"*No*. I haven't seen him like this since Thomas started on his one-boy campaign to destroy *Olivier's* equilibrium," Treville says, and laughs harder. 

Porthos wags his head back and forth. "Yeah, I can see Aramis having the same sorts of *effects*." 

"*Can* you, now..." 

Porthos scowls at him. "Don't you start." 

Treville laughs a little evilly and taps his nose.

"What --" 

"I've *smelled* you around Aramis, son..." 

"*Shit* -- I -- *fuck* --" 

And Treville laughs *hard*. "Oh, son, don't --" Treville licks his lips and grins. "I? Have smelled the entire *regiment* around Aramis. And a goodly fraction of the French peerage." 

"Uh." 

"And any number of random people on the *street*. And..." And Treville raises his eyebrows. 

"And *yourself*, sir?" 

Treville inclines his head and flourishes.

"Right, well, that does make sense." 

"Doesn't it, though? Now, I *hadn't*, before this point, smelled our *Athos* around Aramis --" 

"But you're going to smell him *now*, yeah," Porthos says, and snorts -- 

And reaches out to ruffle Athos's hair -- 

"He's a little more... cautious about things than the rest of us." 

"Mm. That he is, son," Treville says, and drinks a little more wine. "He always has been." 

"It only seems... practical," Athos says, and licks his lips. "Reasonable." And he blinks rapidly -- 

He's flushed and sweating -- 

"Still thinking about Aramis, son?" 

"I..." 

Porthos grins and shakes Athos a little by his grip on the back of his neck. "Still thinking about Aramis being violent with your *prick*?" 

"... fuck," Athos says, enunciating beautifully. 

"Oh, son, I --" Treville laughs helplessly and fills his glass. 

Athos glares at his wine instead of drinking it. 

"No, mate?" 

"This -- is going to be *intensely* *awkward*," Athos says. 

Porthos wags his head. 

"And -- and *inconvenient*." 

"Son --" 

"And -- bad for *morale*." 

"*Son*." 

"Sir, *what*?" 

"Think about Porthos slapping your cock."

For a moment, it seems the silence is overarching. *Complete*. 

After that, the many crackling and popping sounds of the fire take over absolutely everything. 

After *that*, it becomes clear that Athos is gurgling very quietly, indeed -- while staring at heretofore-undiscovered vistas behind his own eyes -- 

And, after *that*...

"Bloody *hell*, sir..." 

"Mm?" 

"Uh." 

"Yes?" 

"I mean... you uh. You smelled that, too, I guess. On me." 

Treville smiles wryly. "That I did, son." 

"But -- on *him*?" 

Treville leans back in his chair, crosses his legs, and raises an eyebrow at Porthos. "Ultimately, son? I *smelled* it on *all* of you." 

Porthos blinks -- and his expression turns *hungrily* thoughtful. 

Treville nods and lifts his wine to his lips. 

"Sir..." 

"Mm?" 

"I mean... you do *realize* that we all want *you*, too, right?" 

Treville does *not* spray the table with wine. 

*Athos* does -- 

Porthos pats his back -- 

And Treville could really use that for himself, because the only reason that he'd managed *not* to spray the table is that he'd choked his watered wine *right* into his sinuses. 

There is not one single part of him which isn't regretful about that -- 

The dog, especially, wants to know why the *fuck* he doesn't just drink plain water -- 

The dog doesn't want to hear *anything* about how *he* likes things like wine and brandy sometimes, *too* --

The dog is snapping at him now, which -- right. 

(You earned that, amant.) 

Would you just -- 

(Mmm...?) 

I suppose you saw this coming. 

(The young men -- the young *soldiers* -- who did everything they *could* to spend every *moment* of their free time with their *Captain*, amant...?) 

I.

(Yes...?) 

Well, how *do* you feel about this?

(How honest was that question?) 

What -- what the hell kind of question was *that*?

(Amant --) 

*No*. You *have* to know how much you mean to me, brother. The fact that we spend more of our time apart than *together* doesn't mean that I don't *treasure* the *binding* on our souls -- in *part* because it lets me know, in no uncertain terms, that you're feeling just a little bit *nervous* right now. 

(Not... nervous.) 

*Jason*. 

(Not *nervous*, amant. I promise,) Jason says, and his rueful smile is as tangible as one of his rough-palmed caresses. 

Treville takes a breath -- and relaxes provisionally. Tell me. 

(I treasure our binding *just* as much as you do -- in *part* because it lets me know, in *no* uncertain terms, that you are waiting *patiently* for me to get off my *arse* and stop holding you at a *remove* --) 

That's *right* -- 

(That you have *been* waiting, and that, when it comes down to it? If I take *too* long, you will *heel* me.) 

You're goddamned *right* I will -- 

(And that, ultimately, is where we are in *this* moment.) 

Treville frowns. How do you mean?

(A small but significant part of me is wondering whether you might -- *might* -- take slightly *longer* to heel me if, say, one or several of your sons were riding your *magnificent* knot when you'd otherwise be moved to do so.) 

I. 

(Note that I do *not* believe that you *wouldn't* heel me.) 

But -- that I would take longer to do it. 

(Possibly an entire *hour*, amant.) 

You do realize -- 

(That you're tempted to do it *now*? Yes, amant. I'd picked that up by the fact that it's taking a significant fraction of my power to *stop* you from doing it now.) 

Treville growls. 

(That is *always* inspiring --) 

*Jason* -- 

(Let me... let me be a fool, amant. For just a *little* bit longer.) 

*Why*? 

(Because I'm so happy with you that it steals my breath and terrifies me.) 

Treville inhales sharply. Jason...

(We both know a *bit* about loss...) 

*We* don't have to lose *anything*, Jason! Not *anymore* -- 

(Don't -- don't.) 

And Treville can stop -- and think. It's too much, isn't it. It's too much to hope, full stop. Much less to hope *for* something. 

Jason's smile within him is a *rictus*. 

Oh -- lover. 

(It's not -- I am *better* than this, amant.) 

You'll best it, as you best *every* enemy. 

(Oh, yes. But... I do sometimes need a *bit* of time.) 

You'll have it, lover. I won't rush you. 

(Much...?) And *this* smile manages to be both wry and gently, *youthfully* hopeful. 

Treville rumbles and *yanks* on everything than connects their power. Their *souls*. 

Jason *grunts* -- 

No, lover. Not *much*. 

Jason hums. (I love you with absolutely all of myself, amant...) 

The feeling is mutual. And I'd like to state for the record that the dog thinks this game of tug-o-war we're playing at the moment is the *best* of games. 

(Oh... dear...) 

Treville laughs *precisely* like the arsehole he is -- 

The dog *hauls* on Jason -- 

(Ngah --) 

I'll just go check on my boys while you two play, shall I? 

(You *arse* --) 

Yours, Treville says, and *focuses* -- 

And finds Athos leaning over the table with his face in his hands --

And Porthos rubbing Athos's back solicitously while eyeing *Treville* expectantly. 

Treville sighs happily. "You have my apologies, sons --" 

"'s all right. You were discussing things with your Jason?" 

"That's right --" 

And Athos drops his hands and sits up. "Is he... well?" 

Treville wags his head a little. "He's had a very difficult life, and a *horrifically* difficult *romantic* life --" 

"Oh -- shit -- you should -- I mean -- we would never -- uh." And Porthos, bless him, actually blushes. "I mean, I don't know how you... uh... *negotiate* things, sir... or even if you're interested! And..." 

Treville raises an eyebrow *slowly*. 

"... fuck." Porthos doesn't enunciate nearly as much as Athos tends to. 

Athos, for his part, is giving Treville a very *wry* look -- 

Treville sips his wine. "Yes, son?" 

"Did you intend to let Porthos flail until his blushes *actually* caused him to catch flame, sir?" 

Treville pulls on a judicious expression and wags his head a little. 

Athos snorts -- 

Porthos gives him a *wounded* look -- 

Treville winks at him. "At ease, son. In answer to your questions: No, Jason and I are not exclusive in that way. Yes, Jason is my brother, my pack, my *coven*, and my *heart*. I will do *nothing* to harm him, and everything to *ease* him --" 

"Oh, yeah --" 

"-- *including* introducing him to you and Aramis as soon as *possible*, because he *already* adores you *precisely* as much as he adores Athos --" 

"*Oh* --" 

"And, truly, it had *already* felt *wrong* to me that you boys *didn't* know him." 

Porthos inhales -- "That. That we didn't know your heart." 

Treville inclines his head.

"Right. So... um..." 

"Mm?" 

Porthos smiles ruefully. "I guess I should actually say something about why I'm *here* tonight..." 

Treville grins. "I assumed you'd decided to improve my life even more than you already did on a daily *basis*, son." 

Porthos blushes again and coughs -- 

Athos smiles crookedly. "You know, I don't think I've seen him blush this much in the entire time I've *known* him." 

Treville flourishes again -- 

Athos *snorts* again. "*Sir*." 

Treville *grins*. "So you *are* back with us, son?" 

"Mm. I've now had a truly unconscionable number of violent sexual fantasies about Aramis, Porthos, and Aramis and Porthos *together* --" 

"Nice, that --" 

"Yes, quite," Athos says, and coughs a laugh. "In any event, now that my mind has done the preliminary work of forcing me to *acknowledge* the fantasies, it will leave me alone while it collates them." 

Porthos frowns. "Does it..." 

"Mm?" 

"Uh..." 

"What is it?" 

Porthos looks to Treville in some distress. 

Treville coughs and rubs at his moustache to keep from snickering *too* very hard. "Ah... Athos." 

"Yes, sir?" 

"I believe Porthos would like to know if this is the usual state of affairs for you and your sexual fantasies." 

"Ah." And Athos turns to Porthos. "Yes." 

Porthos's expression is somewhat pinched. "But..." 

"Mm?" 

"When does the *wanking* come in, mate?" 

"Absolutely every time I do not *wish* it to do so, of course." 

"Right, that's better," Porthos says, and turns back to *him*. "So I was saying." 

Treville hums. "Yes, son?" 

"I just -- I haven't been able to stop thinking about you, sir, and -- yeah, *part* of it is everything we've all been talking and strategizing about. You know, making sure you have as little time by yourself as possible, because you deserve at least as many good things as you give us --" 

"I --" 

"But, you know, there's something else, too," Porthos says, and he's blushing again. "Something, you know... uh..."

Treville raises his eyebrows slowly again... 

Porthos coughs laughter. "You -- you're really an *arse* -- uh. *Sir* --" 

Treville snickers *hard*. "That I am, son. But you know I'm only teasing --" 

"I *do* know. And uh. We *both* know that I'm not even *talking* about tossing myself off to you, because I've been doing that since I bloody *got* here, and I don't bloody *care* who knows --" 

Treville *wheezes* -- 

Athos sighs happily and *sips* his wine. "He truly doesn't, sir. He's quite vocal about it when we're all out in the field --" 

"Too bloody *right*, I am!" 

"No matter what *any* of us have to say about it --" 

Porthos makes a scoffing noise. "Well, now we know that *you* were being a lying *arse* about it, brother." 

"I didn't *know*, brother --" 

"Oh, all right. That *is* how you work --" 

"*Thank* you." 

"Right, right," Porthos says, and turns back to Treville. "But I was saying." 

"I am *increasingly* desperate to hear it, son," Treville says, and grins helplessly.

(And so am *I*.) 

"And so is Jason." 

"Oh, yeah, eh?" 

Treville inclines his head *while* feeling Jason doing the same -- 

Which is impressive, considering the fact that the dog is still *hauling* on him -- 

(*Shut* it --) 

*Anything* you say...

"Anyway, uh. Well, you're a witch, an earth-witch, and my *mum* was an earth-witch..." 

"Oh, yes, son?" Treville sips his wine and sets his glass down. "I'd assumed you had some earth-mages in your family *somewhere*, but I wasn't quite sure where." 

"No, right? The witches who took care of me and mine after my mum died always said that *I* would grow into an earth-witch when I was, you know, an adolescent, but it *obviously* never happened. I don't know. It *confused* them, sir," Porthos says, and smiles ruefully. 

Treville blinks. "Did it, son?" 

"Aye, sir. It still *does*. I mean, every *time* I visit Yejide -- that's the death-witch I was basically apprenticed to when I was coming up -- she all but goes over me with a fine-toothed *comb* to figure out what went *wrong*. I dunno. I just -- when Athos told us that *you* were a powerful witch with powerful witch-friends... I just thought, maybe, you'd have some answers." 

And -- Jason is *still* within him. Staring at the tableau of Porthos and Athos smiling wryly at each other, at Athos squeezing Porthos's magnificent shoulder comfortingly -- 

At Porthos shrugging lightly before looking to *him* again -- 

Looking so *hopeful* and *patient* -- 

And Treville knows that Porthos thinks that Treville is doing something bloody *useful* with his time, something like *consulting* with Jason for the *information* he so badly...

(Amant...) 

Jason, I -- I -- 

(Amant, you *must* ask the questions.) 

Treville squeezes his eyes *shut*. 

(*Treville* --) 

I already know the answers. 

(I am in your *soul*, man! The enchantment has *not* been broken --) 

But it *will* be as soon as a I -- *fuck*. How did I *not* --

(It's called a *curse* for a *reason*, amant. Now bloody well *break* it at *last*!) 

Treville *snarls* --

"Uhh... sir?" 

"Yes, I -- sir? What --" 

"*Porthos*. Was your mother's name *Amina*." 

Porthos blinks and starts to shake his head, and for a moment -- 

For a moment that stretches just a *little* like Belgard's looping, *stinking* intestines had from the branches of that *tree* -- 

Treville can believe that he is mistaken.

But. "Sir. I. You knew her." 

Treville growls low and helpless and so -- 

*So* -- 

And Athos is blinking and *stunned*, staring back and forth between him and Porthos -- 

And Jason is holding him. Just -- holding him. 

(There's more you must do, amant...) 

Yes. Yes, I -- Treville *stops* growling. "She was my wife. She was my *mate* --" 

"*Fuck* --" 

"Your *blood*-father tried to kill her *and* you while everyone in our pack except for Athos's *mother* was out of the country on an action in bloody *Spain* --" 

"What -- *I* -- *sir*!" 

"Your mother ran, son. *With* you. Your mother ran, to a death-mage --" 

"I -- I --" 

"Named *Guillou*. He used a shade to *attack* her mind and soul until she would agree to surrender her *life* to him -- to allow him to bleed her life *away* until she was nothing but a *husk* --" 

Porthos *snarls* -- "I. Know this. I know this." 

"Your Yejide. She smelled this on your mother, I'd wager." 

Porthos narrows his eyes. "Yeah. I -- she helped mum protect me. At -- at the end." 

Treville shudders. "I owe her every-bloody-thing I *am*." 

"I --" 

"And I owe you... this. For a start," Treville says, and *reaches* within Porthos, within his son, within his *boy*, for every *fragment* of power he can't perceive in any *fucking* way -- 

"What -- what are you -- I feel --" 

\-- but knows are *there*. "Just a *moment*, son," he says, and he *grips* at that power, uses years of practice and Jason's teaching to wind that power around and around and *around* his own spirit until he can *yank* it to himself -- 

Yank it free of its *prison* -- 

Porthos *shouts* -- 

His eyes flare a beautiful leafy green... 

And his power is -- there. Everything about him -- 

Everything about *them*, because -- 

"I -- fuck -- *fuck*, sir, are we bloody *bound*?" 

"We -- you and I *and* your mother -- were *all* bound *together*, son." 

"Bloody *hell*..." 

Treville... stares. 

Just that. 

There's nothing else he *can* do for long moments, because he could *feel* the curse being broken as he'd told Porthos the truth about their past, as Porthos had finally come to look at Treville, to *see* Treville as who he is, and who he is to Porthos himself, but... 

This. 

Everything about the way Porthos's *looks* -- 

The contours of his *face* -- 

Athos takes a breath. "Sir... the way you're looking at Porthos..."

Porthos looks at *Athos* before looking back to *him* -- 

And Treville shudders once, all over, before stilling himself as best as he can. 

There isn't a goddamned thing he can do about the tears in his eyes. 

Porthos nods once and turns back to Athos. "I look -- a lot like my mum, brother. Just -- everyone always said so." 

"Oh. But..." 

"I don't think..." Porthos shakes his head. "Mum said... a couple of times, not many. She *couldn't* say personal things too much, because it *hurt* her *physically* --" 

Treville can't bite back a *whine* -- 

Porthos winces. "She said -- she said there was dark magic separating us from our family. *Hiding* us from our family. Our *true* family, because she said there was a difference between that family and the one related to me by blood. She said -- one day I'd find them. If I was lucky. Um. Sir..." 

Treville shudders again -- 

*Again* -- 

"Ask anything, son. Ask *everything*." 

"No, I --" 

"*Yes*." 

Porthos jumps in his *chair* a little. "Uh -- yeah, all right," he says, and laughs painfully. "I -- I *really* look like her. Don't I." 

"Everything, son. You're a man; your skin is relatively pale; you're *somewhat* taller and broader; and your hair has a different texture. Those are, literally, the only differences." 

Porthos swallows. "And -- you couldn't see it. Before -- you broke the curse." 

More tears fall. "Nothing. Nothing but that you were beautiful." 

"Um. Shit?"

Treville blinks and flares his nostrils. "That... bothers you?" 

"Not -- uh." Porthos shakes his head and smiles with shaky ruefulness. "I did always *want* to know at least a *little* about who my father was, sir. You know, if I *did* look a little like him -- except that you're snarling and *gleaming* at me and also the table is bloody *cracking* where you're holding it. *Look*, sir, I think this is a reasonable bloody thing for a child to think about!" 

"I --" 

"It truly is, sir," Athos says, leaning his chair back on two legs and sipping his wine *ostentatiously*.

Treville narrows his eyes -- 

(You're being an arse in *problematic* ways, amant.) 

Treville *blinks* -- 

Porthos is *glaring* at him -- 

Athos is raising an *eyebrow* at him -- 

Right. Treville grabs the bottle of wine, finishes it with malice aforethought, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, belches, and nods to his boys. "I apologize." 

Porthos raises *his* eyebrows. "For which, sir." 

"For *reacting* instead of thinking, son. Of course you'd want to know more about your blood-father. He was the eldest son of the then-Marquis de Belgard, and I tore him apart for what he tried to do to you and your mother. Slowly and with *relish*." 

"Uhh... literally?" 

Treville inclines his head. "I knew he was responsible for your disappearance -- finding the stinking-mad assassin he'd hired to do the job and cutting *him* to pieces for answers just confirmed things. Your mother had had to fight the assassin off with you in her *arms* -- but. I was talking about Belgard." 

"*Fuck* -- yes, sir." 

"I strung him up, son. On his own lands, *by* his own intestines." 

"You..." 

"I did have to use *some* rope for support, but I knew what I was about. I'd planned things thoroughly, son." 

"Did it make you feel *better*?" 

"Nothing did, son." 

"Um." 

"Though I did get some measure of satisfaction once Jason helped me hunt down Guillou, and, together, we tortured the man *nearly* to death just before I imprisoned his soul in my rapier, where he will scream, night and day, for as close to the next thousand years as I can manage," Treville says, and folds his hands together on the table. 

Porthos stares at him. 

Treville raises an eyebrow. 

Athos looks to Porthos -- 

"I was really just hoping to know what my father bloody *looked* like, you know." 

"Ah. Hm." 

Jason splutters -- 

Athos *coughs* -- 

"I mean, I can *guess* what he looked like *after* you were done with him --" 

"I." 

"But, you know, was he bloody *tall*." 

"Well... no." 

"All right. Thank you." 

"You're welcome --"

"Wait."

"I -- yes?" 

"Did you cut his *feet* off or some bloody thing?" 

"No, that was the assassin." 

"Bloody *hell* --" 

"I'm kidding." 

"*Are* you?" 

"No," Treville says, and wheezes helplessly -- 

Porthos throws his napkin at him -- 

Treville laughs *harder* -- 

"I can't bloody *believe* you! Aren't dogs supposed to be *efficient* about killing people?" 

"It's always been my understanding," Athos says, "that the Captain and his dog are rather at odds about how to go *about* killing people." 

"You argue with your own bloody *dog*?" 

Treville *yips* laughter -- 

The dog wants Treville to know that their boy is superior in every way. 

The dog is absolutely correct. Also, wouldn't it be wonderful to have our whole pack close?

The dog goes back to hauling on Jason -- 

(*Fuck* -- you *arse*!) 

Treville grins -- 

"Right, what bloody horrible thing are you thinking about now?" 

Treville *hums*. "The dog wanted me to know that you're an entirely superior person --" 

*Porthos* grins -- 

"So I suggested to him that he... encourage Jason to join us all." 

Athos frowns. "I'm somewhat worried about that pause, sir." 

"I'm *very* bloody worried about that pause --" 

Treville *snickers* -- 

(I like your children *better* than you!) 

"Jason -- Jason wants you both to know that he likes you *very* --" 

"You're doing something fuck-awful to him. Aren't you." 

"Technically --" 

"Just say yes, sir." 

Treville guffaws. Like -- 

"*Fuck*. *Mum* would laugh that way!" 

Treville sighs and wipes away a few more tears. "Oh, sons, I..." He shakes his head and smiles ruefully. "Life *changed* when I lost my Amina-love. *I* changed. I..." He growls -- no. No. "If it hadn't been for the rest of my pack -- and then, when he came to me, Jason -- well. There were a *lot* of times when I wanted to just... stop. Give up. Give *over* to absolutely nothing worthwhile. But my pack, old and new, taught me how to be happy again. You boys are teaching me even more." 

Porthos blinks -- 

Athos stares at him *wonderingly* -- 

(You're a godawful person when you're lighthearted.) 

Treville *snorts* -- 

(Then again, you're a godawful person when you're *melancholy*, too --) 

I -- 

(So, truly, I have only myself to blame for the fact that you're always bloody *charming*.) 

I love you, *too*, Jason, Treville says, simpering with a will. 

(*Arse*.) 

Say, Dog? I think if you go for his left flank -- 

(*Shit* --) 

The dog fills Treville's mind with overjoyed rumbles and barks, which strongly suggests that either Treville was right about the flank, or Jason's resolve about not visiting is weakening. 

Either way? 

His lover is *closer*. 

Treville sighs happily --

"I have to admit that I'm profoundly curious to know *precisely* what terrible --" 

"Fuck-awful." 

"-- quite. Thing you're doing to Jason," Athos says, and turns to incline his head to Justine, who blows him a kiss as she sashays in with a tray positively groaning with food. 

Beatrice flounces in behind her with more wine and water, and, once she sets that down, *absolutely* takes the opportunity to sit in Porthos's lap and bury his face in her blonde curls -- 

"I'm visiting all the bloody time." 

Treville hums. "I *believe* you'll find that you'll be *living* here... son." 

Porthos coughs into Beatrice's *hair* -- 

Beatrice *swats* him --

"*Fuck* --" 

Treville sucks his teeth like Reynard. "Bad form, son." 

"Fuck fuck -- I -- *sorry* -- I mean -- uh. What *is* your name, Mademoiselle?" 

"I'm *Beatrice*, Porthos. And *hopefully* the Master will teach you how to treat a lady once you move in," she sniffs, and then makes a *wonderful* show of flouncing right back out of the room -- with a bit of ankle on display, of course. 

Treville sighs. 

Justine giggles and pinches Athos's *cheek* before dashing after her -- 

Athos hums -- 

Porthos looks *dazed* -- 

And Athos pats his shoulder. "You'll get used to it, brother." 

Porthos looks *pained* -- 

Treville reaches across the table and puts the fork in Porthos's hand. 

"I."

Athos puts the knife in Porthos's other hand. 

"Uh."

Athos looks at Porthos expectantly. 

"Right, then," Porthos says, and eats. 

Athos and Treville follow suit.


	6. Sometimes we all need to know that our loves will do everything they can to know everything about *us*.

The table is a wreckage of bones, gravy, and empty bottles, and there's a part of Treville which is, honestly, just as happy -- just as *satisfied* -- about that as it is about everything else. 

He *needs* his sons here, eating *their* food, drinking *their* wine, sitting in *their* chairs, and -- 

Hm. 

He eyes Porthos just a little. 

"Mm? Sir?" 

"Where *is* Aramis tonight, son?" 

"Oh -- yes, brother. I was expecting both of you to be *whoring* tonight," Athos says. 

Porthos laughs ruefully. "Well, that *was* the plan -- that's *always* the plan when we know you're not going to be *with* us, mate --" 

Treville shakes his head sadly. "You boys really let Athos off far too easily." 

"*Sir* --" 

"Well, we know that *now*, sir," Porthos says, and waggles his eyebrows. "I *assure* you that Aramis and I will be doing our *diligence* from now on." 

"*That's* my boy." 

And Porthos looks at him with wide-eyed wonder -- 

*Reaches* for him half-consciously with power Treville now knows -- *feels* -- that Porthos was at least partially trained to *use* --

(Uhh... well, um. It's like I said, sir --) 

Oh -- *son* -- 

(Fuck, you really *mean* that!) 

I've *always* meant it!

Porthos shivers like a horse -- 

Licks his lips -- 

And grins. "I um. The witches who, you know, took over for Mum after she was gone. They *knew* I was supposed to grow into power." 

Treville takes a *breath*. "They did their *damnedest* to prepare you for it." 

"That's *right*, sir." 

And Athos is looking back and forth between them -- until he isn't, and he nods. "The two of you began... communicating." 

"Silently, mate," Porthos says, and cuffs Athos's arm. "Why don't *you* do it with your bloody *godfather*?" 

Athos blinks. "It's always seemed --" 

"*Grasping*, son...?" And Treville *looks* at Athos. 

Athos blushes and coughs. "I... perhaps... I should spend some measure of time working on knowing better than that." 

Porthos nods judiciously. "Sounds about right." 

Treville snorts. "This is *why* Thomas never actually *stops* treating you like a work in progress, son." 

Athos's expression turns distinctly dreamy. "I believe I would be... heartbroken if he ever *did* stop treating me that way, sir." 

Porthos cuffs Athos again. "I don't know if I want the images in his mind for that or *not*."

Treville pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes his head once. "*You* didn't have a hand in raising those boys, son, so I'm going to assume that yes, you absolutely do." 

Porthos snickers hard. "*Right*, sir, but *you're* hot for *all* of us *and* you think of us as your sons --" 

"I --" 

"So I don't think you ought to be clambering up onto any *especially* high horses over there." 

(Do ask him if he wants to call you 'Daddy' at any point.) 

Fuck -- *no*!

Jason laughs like a *demon* -- 

And Porthos *and* Athos have their eyebrows up, almost certainly because *nearly* all the blood in Treville's body has rushed to his *face*. 

Nearly. 

Treville sighs. "I don't suppose we can..." And he raises his eyebrows *hopefully*. 

Athos raises his eyebrow *higher*. "Ignore that, sir...?" 

"I --" 

"*Fuck* no, sir!"

Athos nods *once* -- 

"Hm. Weren't we talking about *Aramis*?" 

"Oh -- shit, yeah," Porthos says, and grins. "We stopped by his Mum's brothel, like we've *been* doing regularly these past weeks. Claudette wanted answers about *why* we've been coming around so often -- it just *figures* that Aramis hadn't ponied up, eh? Anyway, *I* told her about how Aramis and Athos had rolled right over Thomas and me when we were all strategizing about how we were going to, you know, insert ourselves into your back pockets on our way down your trousers --" 

Treville *coughs* -- 

"That's what Aramis did. Anyway, I pointed out that Athos and Aramis were all about the military approach, and all cold and practical and shite like that --" 

"Practical is the operative *word*," Athos says -- 

"You shut it, mate, 's not your turn," Porthos says -- 

Athos snorts -- 

"But Aramis *started* to object in the same way *Athos* just did, sir -- and then he stopped. And *swallowed*. And looked at his *Mum*," Porthos says, lowering his chin and raising an eyebrow. 

Treville raises one *back* -- and blinks. "His *mother* objected to the *practical* approach?" 

Athos is *staring* -- 

"Not *as* such, sir. *But*," Porthos says, and prepares to tick off points on his fingers, "*Claudette* pointed out that she'd raised Aramis to look at a given situation -- *every* given situation -- from *all* angles, at *all* times, no matter *what*." 

Athos licks his lips. 

"*Claudette* pointed out that, with me and Thomas *both* saying that there were other ways the situation *could* be handled --" 

"Brother, it's not as though we --" 

"Still not your turn, brother," Porthos says, and taps his left middle finger with his right index finger. "Claudette paused at this point -- Aramis was wilting like a hothouse flower, so her timing was perfect as ever --" 

Treville nods judiciously -- 

(I'm in love...) 

"So she's paused, right? And she looks at *me*, and I'm *absolutely* standing at attention, because I know what's good for me --" 

Treville snorts -- 

"Shut it, sir, *you* weren't there --" 

Treville *yips* a laugh --

Porthos *beams* at him -- 

(You have *excellent* taste in children, amant.) 

I've always thought so -- 

"So, right, I'm at attention, and she's giving me that cold, *steely* burn thing she does --" 

"Oh, like the Captain, brother?" 

"Nah, nah, you've got to be a *mother* to perfect that look, brother. My Mum would always... hunh." 

"Yes, brother?" 

Porthos jerks his chin at Treville -- 

"Mm? What is it, son?" 

"*Did* Mum have that look, you know, *before* I was born?" 

Treville grins and sighs and remembers... 

(She was always, *always* beautiful...) 

That's *right* -- 

Jason hums and caresses him -- 

And Athos and Porthos are gazing at him with focused, *interested* wonder. They... 

"I've always wanted your stories, sir," Athos says, and blushes. "Your -- memories." 

"Yeah, sir. I -- fuck, even *before* I knew, you know? You -- you're the man I admire most," Porthos says, quiet and fervent. 

"The man *we* admire most, sir," Athos says, and he and Porthos smile at each other --

Treville keeps his shiver internal with an act of *will* -- 

(Why on *earth* did you do *that*?) 

... I have no idea.

This time, Jason smacks him. 

*Right*. "You boys -- and Aramis and Thomas, too --" Treville growls his way through a rumble. "I love you all madly. *Desperately*," Treville says. "Never doubt that. Doubt *everything* else about me. Throw everything else I ever *say* to you right back in my *face*, but -- not that. Please." 

Athos blushes -- 

Porthos blushes and ducks his head -- 

Athos *grins* at Porthos's blush before turning back to *him* -- 

And Treville -- can't. He reaches out to stroke his Athos's cheek gently -- 

"Sir..." 

And he does the same damned thing with his Porthos. 

"Right, well, now Aramis is *really* going to regret hacking off his Mum -- he's been *dreaming* of those big, hard, rough hands of yours on his face and other parts, sir." 

Treville *stares* -- 

"Not that we *all* haven't --

Athos puts his face in his hands -- 

"We have been *ridiculously* jealous of Athos here -- who hasn't been taking *nearly* enough advantage of your affectionate nature as far as we're concerned --" 

Athos *moves* his hands -- and beats his head on the table. 

Treville *stares* -- 

Jason *chortles* -- 

Porthos takes the cushion from the empty seat beside him and, smooth as you please, places it between Athos's head and the table. 

That -- Treville takes a breath. "I. Thank you, son." 

"Anytime, sir. We all know our Athos gets a bit dramatic of an evening. But you were saying about Mum?" 

What...?

(I... hm.) 

*Help*. 

(Let me just... ah, yes, *this*,) Jason says, and rifles through Treville's memories, selecting multiple images of Amina glaring just *so* while resting a proprietary hand on her *exceedingly* pregnant belly, and, later, on Porthos's crib. 

Treville sighs happily -- 

(*Focus*.) 

And he can do that, too -- 

(I never realized how essentially *fixated* on suffering I had become until I took up with a man who lived to make his lovers *belligerent*.) 

You shouldn't berate yourself for that, lover. 

(Why the bloody hell *not*?) 

It's not like I *only* love you for your *mind*. 

(I.) 

Treville focuses on his -- expectant -- children. "In answer to your question, Porthos --" 

"Yeah, sir?" 

Treville grins. "Your mother didn't develop that *particular* glare you mentioned until she was *very* pregnant with you." 

"No, eh? Did it, you know, get more intense after I was born?" 

Treville considers... "I don't think so, actually. It was more that she developed still *other* wonderful glares. Not to mention the new and *beautiful* acts of violence --" 

"That she added to all her *old* and beautiful acts of violence?" 

"That's *right*." 

Porthos laughs. "Fuck, I *miss* her!" 

"I miss her *every* day, son," Treville says, grinning and turning to Athos. "She would've been your godmother, you know." 

Athos and Porthos blink together -- 

*Grin* together -- 

*Obviously* imagine the world where they would've been raised together... 

And Treville hasn't the faintest clue how he could, in this moment, feel better in his own skin than he does right now. 

Porthos licks his lips and throws an arm around Athos's shoulders. "But I never finished talking about Claudette going up one side of Aramis and down the other, eh?" 

Treville takes a sip of wine. "Please do continue, son. I have *always* wanted to know more about her." 

"She's entirely wonderful, sir," Athos says. "I have never spent more than two minutes in her presence without learning something useful and *profound*." 

"Too *right*. I mean, I can *sympathize* with Aramis not wanting to go to his Mum's place to get his ashes hauled all the *time* --" 

"Oh, *can* you, brother?" 

"*You* don't get a vote until you're coming *with* us." 

Athos *snorts* -- 

"In *any* event," Porthos says, "Margaud's -- that was the name of the Madame before Claudette took over, and Claudette feels very loyal to her and such, sir --" 

"Got it; go on, son," Treville says, and toasts him -- 

"*So*. Margaud's is clean, smells bloody *wonderful*, is *full* of gorgeous women, boys, girls, and just a *few* people in between --" 

Treville rumbles in approval -- 

"Too *right*. And, on top of *all* of that, *because* Claudette is the bloody Madame and Aramis is her bloody beloved son and *I'm* Aramis's bloody best *mate*..." 

"You boys ride for free, allowing you to *save* your hard-earned livres for the... individuals of custom who are, shall we say, in somewhat worse positions financially." 

"*Exactly*, sir." 

"And the oceans of liquor," Athos says, and tosses back his wine. 

"That, too, that, too," Porthos says. 

Treville snorts and shakes his head fondly. "And so after Claudette explained *that* bit of practicality to Aramis...?" 

"Oh, no, no, sir. *I* explained that part before we got there. Claudette just pointed out that she *knew* I'd done it, and that *Aramis* knew that she knew that I'd done it, and that Aramis *acting* like that she *didn't* know that I'd done it was a *problem*. But, you know, in prettier words." 

Treville nods judiciously. 

"But I'm getting ahead of myself." 

"Yes, son?" And Treville pours more wine for all of them. 

"Oh, yeah, sir. See, *before* all that, she was laying into Aramis some about how me and Thomas had *told* Aramis and *Athos* that we all didn't *have* to be all *regimental* and *military* and -- and *stuffy* about getting *next* to you.

"That *Aramis* knew -- *had* known, from the time he was a *boy* -- that *seduction* was as much art and inspiration as science and *craft* --" 

"I. Am never going to attempt to seduce anyone," Athos says, and stares into a clearly-horrifying middle distance. 

"Belt up, brother -- you *know* Claudette will train all of us in this if we ask respectfully and such." 

"That's what I'm *afraid* of." 

Porthos *snorts* -- "Right, well, that's *reasonable*, but here's the upshot: *Reasonable* was the whole *problem*, eh?" And he raises his eyebrows at Treville. 

And that... Treville hums. "I begin to see. Aramis betrayed Claudette's detailed, exacting, and *thorough* training with how he chose to attack the *problem* of me --" 

"That's *right*, sir. So, once he was a wilted little Aramis-bouquet on Claudette's floor?" 

"Yes, son?" 

"Claudette shooed *me* off to 'do what I already *knew* was best' with regards to *you* while she was choosing nice, fancy whore's clothes for Aramis --" 

"Oh my God. I. *Brother*!"

"-- so that he could primp and preen and *advertise* for the *punters* tonight --" 

"You --"

"-- until such time as he *remembered* who he was supposed to *be*," Porthos says, and snickers *precisely* like the arsehole Treville *didn't* get the chance to raise, but damned well should have. 

Treville toasts him. "Well done, son." 

"*Thank* you, sir." 

"I." Athos licks his lips and keeps staring at the various things behind his eyes. 

Porthos shakes his chair a little. "Yeah, brother? What is it?" 

"*Why* didn't you *stay*?" 

"Well, I *wanted* to --" 

"I *know* you did --" 

"I mean, there weren't even any trousers for Aramis in that ensemble, mate. Just breeches and bloody *hose*." 

"Oh my God." 

"And? I could bloody tell that those clothes were tailored to his *exact* measurements, if you get my meaning." 

Athos whimpers.

"Yeah, you do," Porthos says, and takes a *long* drink -- 

And stares at something behind *his* eyes for a long moment -- 

Treville doesn't *look* -- 

(Not to worry, amant. I'm looking *for* you.) 

Your profound lack of morality is the comfort of my sunset years, lover. 

(Sunset-- just for that I *won't* share what it looked like when Aramis tried and failed to lace the breeches all the way up.) 

...

(Yes.) 

Let's introduce ourselves to Claudette as soon as bloody possible.

(Yes, agreed.) 

I'll apologize for making Aramis into less of a whore -- or. Hm. 

(Yes, I... hm. I'm not certain...) 

You're right, I probably *shouldn't* take the blame for that until she *gives* it to me. 

(Yes, I *believe* a woman of her... shall we say *numerous* predilections?) 

And predations, yes. 

(*Indeed*, amant. But -- she may just find that sort of thing from *you* to be unattractively *proprietary*.)

And we do not want that, no. But?

(But... we will meet her on her home ground, on terms that may reasonably be interpreted as her own. And then we shall see what falls out from there.) 

Mm. I truly, truly love the fact that you just spoke about a potential ménage à trois the precise same way you'd speak about meeting with a bloody *demon* who means to rend our souls from our bodies and *devour* everything that doesn't scream its way into the aether.

(Well, I wouldn't want to *bore* you.)

Treville yips a laugh and *helps* the dog yank on Jason's spirit and power, finding it all but *hammered* down in dozens upon dozens of places. That... hm. Jason. 

(Bloody *no*, it's not wise!) 

Then -- 

(I can't get your dog to stop trying to *heel* me, man!) 

Treville checks -- the dog is cheerfully and *systematically* destroying each and every block between himself and Jason's power. 

*While* hauling on Jason. 

*While*... singing dog-songs of seduction. Well. You *could* just *listen* to him and come for a visit, Jason. 

(I'm not entirely certain he'd stop even *then*!) 

Treville checks -- 

The dog informs him -- cheerfully -- that he will not stop until their Jason binds their souls permanently and properly, in the way that would keep him from ever being able to go so far for so long! Which is bad!

Treville wags his head and considers -- 

(You *arse* --) 

He has a point, Jason. 

(He does *not* --) 

Let me just... and Treville does some rifling through Jason's mind -- 

(What are you --) 

Just a *bit*, here and *there* -- 

(*Treville* --) 

Ah, yes. Here it is, Treville says -- 

(Here *what* is?) 

*Here*, Treville says, is everything -- *everything* -- you do to hide from love, and life, and hope, and sweetness, and happiness. 

(You *know* -- we've *already* --) 

*Not* because you're afraid of losing it, lover. You hide -- you *truly* hide -- because *you* think you don't *deserve* it. 

Jason -- flinches. 

Treville and the dog are too close not to feel it, and the dog isn't cheerful anymore -- 

(*Fuck* --) 

The dog is about to leap *through* their connection to Jason, dragging Treville *with* him -- 

(That -- won't be necessary,) Jason says, and smiles ruefully. 

Really.

The dog lowers his great head, just as ominously as he ought. 

Jason laughs softly, lifting all the walls between them -- 

Lifting *every* block and *banishing* them, and Treville hadn't *realized* how difficult it had gotten to *breathe* around them -- 

(Oh -- amant, I'm so --) 

Shh, Treville says, taking another breath and raising a hand. You needed them.

(I -- I did.) 

Sometimes you still *will* need them. Right?

Jason takes a deep, shuddering breath -- (No.) 

Treville raises an eyebrow -- 

The dog lifts his *nose* -- and then whuffs and lowers it, sitting on his haunches. 

Hmm. I'll need a bit more of an explanation than my dog, Treville says. 

The dog tells him, for approximately the ten thousandth time, that he wasn't fit to get off the teat. 

Treville *agrees*, *but* -- 

Jason laughs softly -- and caresses both of them. (My hounds. My *beautiful* hounds.) 

Yours, lover. Talk to us. 

(I... needed you to look.) 

Treville raises his eyebrows. 

(That's... ah. Well. There's *more*, but...) 

Treville *reaches* for Jason -- and he doesn't have to reach far, at all. Not this time. 

(No, amant...) 

You needed to know that I *would* look, when push came to shove. That I would *need* to. That I would *want* to reach right down inside the man who is my pack, my love, my *home* -- Treville growls. I understand. 

Jason searches him, just a little. (Do you?) 

I do. I think -- I think it must seem as though I take things for granted. 

(Not *that* --) 

I *think*, lover, that it must seem as though all the time I spend utterly assured of you and thrilled to be *alive* *because* you *are* you? *Must* -- at least sometimes -- look like I'm just assuming you'll always be there, no matter what I do or don't do. That I think I've earned every little thing about you *years* ago and don't have to do a goddamned thing today, tomorrow, and every day after that to *keep* you --

(Oh -- you *have* earned me!) 

I know, lover, Treville says, and caresses Jason's spirit and power -- every bit of it he can reach. 

Jason *shivers* -- 

I know I earned you *today*.

(I --)

And I'll earn you every bloody *day* from now *on*, too.

The dog whuffs.

Treville raises his eyebrows. 

And Jason... hums. 

Yes...? 

(*Oh*, yes,) he says, and tugs *lightly* against their grip on him. Tugs *teasingly*. 

Treville's grin is neither wider nor *wilder* than the dog's as they pull Jason *through* -- 

"Oh, hey!" And Porthos is standing and grinning and offering his hand -- 

And Athos is standing and grinning and moving to get another bottle -- and glass -- from the *cabinet* -- 

"Oh, Athos, do you *really* need to drink *more* tonight?" 

"Almost certainly *not*, Jason," Athos says, and pours a double-measure of -- red, of *course* -- wine into the glass, "but *you* do." 

Jason harrumphs. "For all you know, I might have been drinking myself into a positive *stupor* --" 

"But you were *not*," Athos says, and places the glass *firmly* in Jason's hand, "because I already know that you *never* drink to excess unless you're *surrounded* by armed individuals who mean you *well*." 

Jason grins like a *boy* -- happy to be known as *always* --

Drinks off *half* the wine -- 

And then turns to Porthos. "Porthos. My name is Jason Blood, as you have no doubt *deduced*, but..." And he smiles ruefully at Porthos's hand. 

Porthos blinks -- "I... what?" 

Treville tugs Porthos back *slightly*. "Jason's cursed, son. He can't touch the *skin* of anyone he hasn't shared blood with without making the other person feel bloody horrible -- *especially* if the other person's an earth-mage. It's all right, though --" 

"It is *not*, amant --" 

"*Because*," Treville says, "it truly only takes a little shared blood to clear up the problem --" 

"*Treville*!" 

"-- as you can see for yourself with *Athos*." And Treville glares at Jason. 

Jason *growls* at him, which, since it's Jason, means that the growl seems to come from every corner of the room, while also darkening the entire house -- and possibly a goodly fraction of the city. 

"Uhh..." 

"Oh, don't worry, brother," Athos says, and hands Porthos his wine. "They truly do bicker a ridiculous amount, especially when one of them feels the other is being too retiring or *small*." 

Jason stops growling -- 

"Oh, yeah, I can see it," Porthos says, and drinks off his wine.

"*Athos* –"

Athos raises an eyebrow at Jason. 

Treville hums and tops off Porthos's glass. "Jason truly is an arse about this, son. Which, to be fair, is understandable --" 

"No, I understand." 

"Yes, son?" 

"You'd almost have to be, yeah? Who knows *how* long he's spent not able to touch anyone without making them get all -- what happens exactly?" 

Jason pinches the bridge of his nose. "They get the *horrors*, Porthos. The *hot*, *crawling*, *slime*-soaked *horrors*." 

"Right, and for how long has this been going on?" 

"Approximately six hundred --" 

"It could be closer to seven hundred," Treville says. 

"-- *years*," Jason says, dropping his hand and *glaring* at Treville again. 

Porthos stares at Jason. 

"He's functionally immortal, brother," Athos says, and makes a drinky-drinky motion. 

"Right, got it," Porthos says, and does just that -- before pulling his extra blade. "Now this isn't *magically* sharp or anything --" 

"Just a moment, son," Treville says, taking the blade and licking it just *so*... "Now it is," he says, and hands it back.

Porthos stares at him. 

"Mm?" 

"I'm having some *extremely* worrying thoughts about that tongue of yours and my *cock*, sir." 

Treville *chokes* on his tongue -- 

Jason *whacks* him on the back -- and sighs. "You earned that, amant." 

"That -- that I did -- *fuck* -- ah... is that what..." 

Porthos is looking at him expectantly. 

Athos looks *glassy*-eyed -- wait. 

"Porthos, son, I'm not going to make your cock come to a *point* -- much --" 

"What the sodding *fuck* --" 

Jason smacks the back of his *head* very firmly indeed -- 

Treville snickers *helplessly* -- 

"What your father *means* to say, Porthos, is that, now that your power has been freed?" 

"*What*?" 

"You are coming into the powers of a *shifter*. Specifically of a *dog*-shifter, just as your mother and father were and *are* --" 

"Oh – shit…" And Porthos stares at Treville's crotch. 

Athos gives himself a shake and clears his throat. "You were looking at the glamoured version of Treville's cock every time we saw him naked before, Porthos --" 

"Why didn't you bloody *tell* me?" 

"It... didn't come up?" 

"It did for *me*, you arse!" 

"All *right*, brother! I didn't *want* for it to come up any more than it already *had*." 

And, for a long moment, Athos and Porthos are glaring at each other -- 

And Jason is glaring at *him* -- 

And *Treville* is holding the laces of his trousers like an *indecisive* arsehole. That won't do. He clears his *throat*. "Sons -- Porthos." 

"What *is* it, sir?" 

"*Would* you like to see what your cock will -- more or less -- look like?" 

Porthos opens his mouth -- 

Blinks -- 

Frowns -- 

*Blushes* -- 

"Right, well, now I'm not so sure about that, sir --" 

"That's fine. We *don't* have to rush *anything* -- or *do* anything you don't *want* to do. But...?" And he nods toward Athos. 

Porthos blinks again -- and winces. "Right, I --" He turns to Athos. "Sorry, brother, I just -- you *don't* deserve me biting your head off." 

Athos smiles ruefully. "I will *always* be amazed by how you *define* that, brother," Athos says, and moves closer -- 

Porthos clinks his glass with Athos's -- 

"I promise to be more forthcoming in the future. About -- about everything I can *think* of." 

"That's perfect, brother," Porthos says. "I *always* want all of you." 

His boys gaze *passionately* into each other's eyes -- *just* the way they should -- and Treville nods in satisfaction. 

Jason strokes a path along Treville's beard. "You're getting positively *soft*, amant..." 

"I cordially invite you to test that theory, lover." 

Porthos and Athos cough laughter -- 

Jason *snorts* -- 

And Treville beckons to Porthos. "Come, son. Jason needs to drink your blood." 

"*Amant* --" 

"Shut it, Jason, you're outvoted," Porthos says --

"You are *disgustingly* like your father," Jason says with a *lovely* degree of acidity -- 

And Porthos *beams*. "Thanks, mate," he says, and looks to *him*. "Where am I slicing, eh?" 

"Pull up your sleeve -- yes, right there. Just a little scratch is all that's needed. Good," Treville says, and puts a mild preservation spell on the scratch so the blood won't go to waste. "Let Jason have the blade." 

"Right you are --" 

"Going forward, Porthos, please be approximately ten *thousand* times less trusting with your weapons and bodily fluids than you *have* been *tonight*," Jason says, and cleans Porthos's blade -- 

Sharpens it *more* -- 

Enchants it... *somehow* -- 

"I *absolutely* will, mate, but -- what was that? That last little bit of..." Porthos flares his nostrils and gives himself a shake. "I could tell you did *something*, but not what." 

Jason grins *rapaciously*. "*Very* good, Porthos -- I was making an effort to *disguise* what I was doing. As a matter of fact, I daresay...?" 

Treville snorts. "I *absolutely* couldn't tell what you were doing, lover -- beyond being sure that you *were* enchanting the blade *after* sharpening it further, and that it was... *reasonably*-positive magery." 

Jason inclines his head. 

"Uhh... 'reasonably'?" 

"Jason can't bless anyone or anything, son. What he *can* do is offer very, *very* carefully crafted curses. *Like* the one on your blade, which will...?" 

"Keep it -- always -- from being turned against you in *any* way, shape, or form. *You* will be able to cut yourself with it, but you will never be able to truly *injure* yourself with it, and there is not one other being on *any* of the spheres who will be able to do so much as *shave* you with it." 

Porthos blinks at Jason before blinking at the *blade* -- 

And Treville nods judiciously and claps Jason on the shoulder. "I heartily approve, lover. Now stop being distracting and suck my son's blood." 

"I..." 

"Oh -- yeah, mate," Porthos says, sheathing his blade and lifting his cut arm between them. 

Athos moves up on Jason's other side and hums. "You *have* always said that rich, healthy blood adds a certain *something* to even very good wine, Jason." 

"*Fuck*," Jason says, darting in like a striking snake -- 

And they're bound tightly enough that Treville can see Jason's power *taking* Porthos -- *gripping* Porthos -- just as Jason wraps his strong, hot hands round Porthos's arm -- 

Porthos snarls *precisely* like the cornered animal he *is* at the moment -- but Treville can and *does* reach for him, hold him, *share* with him -- 

*Ease* this *for* him, and -- 

Fuck, but he'd forgotten just what Jason's curses *felt* like after all this time with the blood-binding -- and the All-Mother's blessings -- sparing him from it. It doesn't matter -- 

(It *does* --) 

Shut it, lover. We both know it's almost done. 

(I --) 

(Y-yeah, mate. I -- even *I* can feel it -- easing,) Porthos says -- 

(Oh -- I bloody well meant to *comfort* you --) 

(Well, you can do it next time, eh? Don't distract him so much, Daddy.) 

*Shit* -- I -- *son* -- 

(Oh... uh. Fuck? Can we um...) 

Treville hears himself -- *feels* himself -- *growling* --

(Can we pretend that I didn't *entirely* mean that?) 

No we bloody *can't*!

(Amant.) And Jason is using the hard, stern voice of *age* -- 

The voice that tends to mean that he's about to use the *weight* of age -- 

The hot stone on Treville's chest that will bloody *bury* him, but -- 

Oh, but -- 

(*Amant*.) 

*Lover*. It's been a bloody *dream* for half my *life*! You -- you *know* that! You *knew* that when you fucking *teased* --

Jason *yanks* them out of the soul-space *unceremoniously* -- 

Porthos is gasping and *reeling* -- 

Treville isn't doing much *better* -- and Jason is keeping Treville from *going* to his *son*. His -- 

His *boy* -- 

Jason bites Treville's *ear* -- 

Treville *yips* -- "Bloody *hell*, Jason!" 

Athos looks to *them* -- and then pulls Porthos into his arms -- 

"Amant. I will give you *everything* you so much as *hint* that you desire -- but." 

"*What* --" 

"In a *moment* you will remember that you and Porthos have not spent the past twenty years dreaming the same dreams --" 

"We --" 

"-- despite being *bound*." 

Treville inhales *sharply*. 

"In a *moment*... you will remember that *you* will do *everything* in your power to *avoid hurting your sons*." 

"*Fuck* --" And Treville is snarling -- and burying his face in against Jason's throat, Jason's strong throat, Jason's long and lean -- 

And he can take those scents, can't he?

Smoke and metal, blood and *musk*, magic and *meat*. Treville *bites* -- 

(I am *yours*, amant --) 

There is no expression of gratitude that is *enough* -- 

(-- and I have never, *ever* wanted your *gratitude*.) 

Treville -- breathes. 

"Yes, do that," Jason says, and pets him in long, firm, *soothing* strokes -- 

Eases him. 

He can *smell* that Athos is doing the precise same thing with Porthos. 

He can feel his boy getting calmer...

That eases him, too. 

(I um...) 

Son?

(Right, I'll just -- I'm sorry. I didn't -- I really didn't mean to just --) 

Shh, don't beat yourself up like this, son. You had no idea what that would... just don't go down that road. It's not for you. 

(Then who the bloody hell *is* it for?) 

Treville *coughs* a laugh into Jason's *throat* -- 

(*Someone*, dear Porthos,) *Jason* says, (who will not lose their *mind* at the thought of calling Treville 'Daddy'.) 

(Uhh...) 

(Yes, that *would* work out to absolutely *no* one you know in the regiment.) 

(Right, got it. It's just... um. Sir... you said... you said you've been *dreaming* it...) 

I know, son -- and I have. But that puts you under *no* obligation -- 

(I know -- I know. But. I've wanted to give you your dreams.) 

Treville *breathes* -- 

Shudders and -- 

And *breathes* -- 

He's *clutching* Jason -- 

Jason is murmuring in his ear and holding him so tightly -- 

And Treville can feel his son all through him, through every *part* of him, coursing through every *vein* as. 

As he moves closer, hand-in-hand with Athos, and oh, Treville can feel him, too, feel his worry, his caution, his *amusement* -- 

He *knows* his godson, and he knows that a part of him, in *this* moment, is only marveling *ruefully* at being the one *here*, as opposed to the brothers he considers to be 'better' at emotional moments.

(Oh --) 

And Treville can feel his Porthos *clutching* Athos, hand and spirit -- 

*Hear* him murmuring his love and gratitude and need and *force* -- 

And, yes, Athos is *somewhat* dazed now -- but the point had to be made. 

(You're a manipulative *arse*, amant,) Jason says, and licks Treville's temple with slow and loving care.

That I am, Treville says, and gives the same treatment to Jason's throat, which is both salty with new and old sweat and redolent of cursed chain mail, before standing straight and scrubbing at his stinging eyes. 

Before looking up into *Porthos's* eyes.

"Sir..." 

"I apologize, son --" 

"Don't --" 

"I apologize for *pushing* you, mm? We both know it's too soon for that sort of thing." 

Porthos licks his lips -- and laughs breathily. "I... really don't want it to be too soon. At *all*." 

"Well... I don't really know the magery to avoid that. And, somehow, neither does *Jason*." 

Jason smiles wryly. "And believe me when I say that I have tried -- mightily -- to find it." 

"Hm." And Athos's smile is... crooked. 

Porthos's eyebrows are up. "Yeah, brother?" 

"It's only... ah." Athos licks his lips and *looks* at Porthos. 

Porthos blinks and *snorts*. "Yeah, you're *absolutely* sodding right," he says, and turns back to Treville and Jason with a jerk of the chin. "It's Aramis. *He* knows the witchery of rushing things from top to bloody *bottom*." 

*Treville* blinks -- 

Jason stares -- 

"I believe," Athos says, "that it would be fair to say that Aramis *created* that witchery." 

"Brother! If I have told you once, I have told you *countless* times: I am a *heretic*, not a witch," Aramis says, striding into Treville's sitting room precisely as if he belongs nowhere else.


	7. What's the Bestamis? A Whore-amis!

Which he *doesn't*, as far as *Treville* is concerned. 

Though... 

"Uhh... brother..." 

"What? What is it?" And Aramis tosses his hat so that it lands -- perfectly -- on the rack in the corner before peeling off his riding gloves. 

Athos is staring helplessly. 

Jason is, by the look of things, *utterly* bewitched.

Treville isn't doing much *better* -- 

"What is *wrong*? I know I am *unconscionably* late to this soirée, but, truly, my good mother --" 

"Mate, you've still got your face on," Porthos says, licking his lips and gesturing. And staring *precisely* like the rest of them are staring, because Aramis is painted like an *exceedingly* expensive whore -- 

It shapes and contours and *enhances* his beard and moustache -- 

Somehow even *more* now that *he's* staring gape-mouthed at *them* -- 

"I..." 

Athos makes a small, desperate sound. 

Aramis tosses his hair and sighs. "I have, it is clear, underestimated *precisely* how much I had *incensed* my good mother over these past several weeks. Amends must be made. If you will all excuse me --" 

"Could you." 

And then there is *silence* again, and that is *confusing* -- until such time as Treville realizes that it was *he* who had spoken. 

At which point he bloody well belts *up* -- 

Clears his *throat* -- 

And pours Aramis a glass of wine. "Stay," he says, and, "Please." 

"I... sir, I -- I have barged into your *home*, and I know that I have pretended that you -- and I -- you did not even *invite* me --" 

"Assume that I meant to, son. Because I did. *Every* time you made me smile -- which has been every day since the day you introduced yourself." 

Aramis blinks -- and smiles like a new day. With the paint, it brings to mind any *number* of catastrophically wonderful interludes of Treville's youth. 

Treville does *not* press a thumb to those faintly-peach lips and *stroke*. What he does, instead, is smile just as warmly as he wishes to -- 

Lead Aramis to the *couch* -- 

"I --" 

"Please," Treville says again. 

Aramis's blush is demure in reality and *coquettish* with the paint, and Treville --

Is...

Porthos snorts *hard*. "Having a moment, are you, sir?" 

Treville hums -- and drinks -- 

And takes a seat *rather* far away from the whore in their midst. "*Just* like everyone else in this room, son," he says, and gestures for everyone else to sit down, too. 

"Too *right* --" 

"Wait. Aramis, pull one of your blades." 

"*Yes*, sir --" 

"Bloody -- *amant*!" 

"Aramis, this is Jason Blood --" 

"Oh, yes? It is a pleasure to meet you at last!" 

"And you, but --" 

"He's a blood-mage -- among other things --" 

"Athos did say --" 

"*Amant* --" 

"And he's cursed, son," Treville says, and raises his eyebrow. 

Aramis blinks and *obviously* considers -- for approximately one and a half heartbeats. "Ah! He will need to drink my *blood*," Aramis says, nodding and tugging his left sleeve up just like that. 

Treville nods -- 

But Jason growls and sends out a *clutch* of shadows to, well, clutch *Aramis*. 

And hold him *still*. 

"Lover." 

Jason growls *harder* -- 

"Was that truly necessary?" 

Porthos is prodding curiously at the shadows holding Aramis's arms pressed to his torso -- 

Athos has retrieved Porthos's newly-magical blade and is looking for a vulnerable place *on* the shadows -- 

And Aramis has an *eyebrow* up while he... wriggles.

And... stretches.

And... tests. Just *so*.

"Oh -- murdering *boggarts*," Jason says, and calls the shadows back before the boys can do anything untoward. 

"Oi, I was looking at those!" 

"I --" 

"*Thank* you, M'sieu Blood," Aramis says, and *taps* the tip of his blade against his pale-golden forearm. "Perhaps you will tell me *why* you do not wish to take my blood?" 

"You --" 

"Perhaps you do not wish to taste the blood of a *whore* --" 

"Oh -- *fuck* --" 

"Perhaps you feel I am not worth being *tasted* by one such as *you* --" 

"Diana's ten thousand *teats*, I." And Jason just stops there for long moments. 

Treville checks -- yes, all the blood has, in fact, drained from Jason's face and his expression could reasonably be compared to stunned cattle. 

(*Shut* it --) 

Absolutely, lover. I wouldn't dream of distracting you from what needs to be *done*. 

(I --) "*I*." And Jason coughs -- and then clears his throat -- 

And bows low -- 

And moves across the room until he can drop to one knee in front of Aramis, whose expression could reasonably be compared to flensing blades. 

Treville checks -- Athos has returned Porthos's blade, but is absolutely staying close enough that he could pull it again, because he absolutely believes he's sober enough to use it, and because he's absolutely bloody-minded enough to use it against a *magical* enemy of unknown force in the interest of keeping a brother free to commit mayhem, and because he absolutely trusts *Porthos* to use every other weapon available to do the same, including -- if necessary -- the leftover gravy on their plates. 

Somehow. 

Treville sighs happily. He truly does have the best children. He turns to check on Jason and *Aramis* -- 

"*Yes*, M'sieu?" 

"You have my apologies, Aramis," Jason says, and smiles with wry self-deprecation. "I have expressed myself poorly when I have expressed myself, at all." 

"And you mean to improve your performance?" 

"*Oh*, yes --" 

"Do so," Aramis says, lifting his chin, and, honestly, if Treville had *known* that Aramis could be this *gloriously* imperious -- 

This -- 

The day he talks Aramis onto his lap is the day he gives up on everything resembling pride, reserve, and *human* honour, and settles into a life of absolute *honesty* forevermore. 

(Yes, but wait your *turn*, amant.) 

All *right* -- 

And Jason inclines his head to Aramis. "Aramis. I am cursed, as your father said --" 

"I did not consent to this!" 

"You really did, mate." 

"Yes, quite," Athos says. 

"I mean, not in the *dirty* ways --" 

"Not -- well..." Athos looks to Porthos -- 

Porthos looks to *Athos* -- 

They frown judiciously -- 

Porthos wags his head -- 

They nod together.

Aramis looks at *nothing* and flushes *deeply* under his paint -- 

And Porthos nods once and cups Aramis's shoulder, careful not to *muss* the paint on his face. "Anyway, you *absolutely* consented --" 

Aramis growls -- "*Porthos* --" 

"-- to *all* of it," Porthos says *implacably* --

"*Including* the... ah... more *intensely* inappropriate aspects of the... all," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"Yeah, that, mate, though it's true that it took you a bit longer --" 

"And, truly, it took me longest of *all*," Athos says, and laughs softly -- 

And Aramis blinks and turns to *look* at Athos and Porthos. 

They smile wryly down at where Aramis is sitting, and Athos hums. "We've had a long and *eventful* conversation tonight, brother." 

Porthos nods judiciously. "That we --" 

"*Damnit*! You must not have these conversations without me!" 

"Well, mate, *I* didn't tell you to hack off your Mum." 

Aramis narrows his eyes *slowly* -- 

The paint turns an already-somewhat-terrifying look wonderfully apocalyptic. 

Treville sighs happily -- and clears his throat.

"What *is* it, sir?"

Treville hums. "I believe you were discussing a certain matter with Jason...?"

(You're an *arse*.)

That I am, lover -- but look at those eyes widen for you.

(Oh. Well, then.) 

In truth, Aramis's eyes are almost certainly wide in this moment for a *few* reasons, but -- a powerful mage on one *knee* to him is absolutely one of them. 

Treville spends an idle moment wondering just how much liquor the various men at Margaud's plied Aramis with in the attempt -- attempt...? -- to win his favour tonight...

And then he focuses.

"... saying, Aramis, I am *cursed*." 

"Cursed *how*, M'sieu Blood?" 

"In *many* ways. I would dearly love to list *all* of them before we go *any* further --" 

"But I won't let him, son." 

"I." Aramis narrows his eyes in *consternation* before looking to him. "*Why* won't you let him do so, sir?" 

"Because," Treville says, and lifts his hands to begin ticking off points on his fingers, "one, only one of the curses is relevant to the blood-drinking; two, Jason tends to brood on a ludicrously misplaced sense of *unworthiness* at the slightest provocation --" 

"*Amant* --"

"Not your turn, mate," Porthos says --

"Thank you son," Treville says. "And three, Jason will have *plenty* of time to explain all the curses to you -- at length and in depth -- once you *are* blood-bound and able to communicate with *all* of us *silently* --" 

"*Oh* --" 

"-- and *join* us within the soul-space we share." And Treville raises an eyebrow -- 

But Aramis already has that *delightfully* mad look in his eyes -- 

He's licking his *teeth* -- 

His blade is dimpling his *flesh* -- 

And Jason is pinching the bridge of his nose. "I should have, perhaps, learned *something* about the fundamental nature of Musketeers by now." 

"Mm," Athos says, noncommittally, and hands Jason another glass of wine. 

"No, mate? You don't think so?" 

Athos shrugs with only his face. 

"Are you *sure*? I mean, he's had all this time -- wait." And Porthos looks down at Jason. "How long *have* you and the Captain been together?" 

Treville does *not* ask Porthos to call him... anything else, at all -- 

At *all* -- 

At. *All* -- 

And Porthos smiles at him ruefully -- and gratefully. 

Treville salutes him gently. "Jason was dying in pieces in my turnip field -- this was at my properties outside of the city -- four years, five months, and eight days ago. We were torturing Guillou and binding him to my rapier a few hours later, but... we'd already come to something of an understanding, son." 

Jason sighs gustily. "As if you didn't need to *see* me set a man on *fire* before you deigned to let me suck your *balls*." 

Treville screws his face up into a positively awful mockery of judiciousness and turns to his children. "A man has to take *care* with his relationships as he rises in wealth and power, sons --" 

Jason splutters -- 

"You don't want to get a *reputation*," Treville says, and wags a finger at Porthos. "You have to think about your brethren among the *gentry*." 

"Oh my fucking --" Porthos *snorts* -- 

Athos raises an eyebrow *high* -- 

And Aramis crosses his long legs and cocks his pretty, painted face to the side. "You -- perhaps -- do not wish to be known as a whoremonger, sir?" 

"That is *just* the sort of talk I will not have in my house, son," Treville says and beetles his brows like Kitos would when he wanted -- 

Porthos *guffaws* -- 

Athos coughs *hard* -- 

Jason tries -- and fails -- to hoot *quietly* -- 

And, of course, their Kitos had *only* used this expression when he'd wanted his loves to make those noises *precisely*. Treville nods in satisfaction and turns back to Aramis. "But did I answer your question, son?" 

"I." 

"Mm?" 

Aramis frowns. 

"No?" 

"Oh --" He *smooths* his expression perfectly -- 

*Exactly* like he's remembering countless lessons about how to keep his paint fresh and beautiful -- 

Treville sighs in *helpless* pleasure --

And Aramis smiles slyly -- while continuing to allow his blade to dimple his arm -- "Yes? You like?" 

"I *love* it, son. As you have *undoubtedly* guessed by now? I spent a great *deal* of time with male whores in my youth -- and rather beyond that." 

Aramis's smile gets even *sharper* -- 

(Did you plan on *testing* him, amant...?) 

Him *and* his mother, lover. Because *I* think -- 

"I note that you have not mentioned how *old* your... men *were*, sir," Aramis says. 

\-- that they *both* know rather a lot more than they've said.

(You're allowed to propose to Aramis first, but I demand the right to propose to the apparently *magnificent* Claudette.) 

Mm. I'll consider it, Treville says, and winks at his perfect brother before taking a long drink of wine, leaning back in his chair, and raising an eyebrow at -- absolutely all of his children. 

Well -- not Athos. 

Athos *knows* the answer to the unspoken question, and *has* known the answer since *Thomas* was old enough to ask -- it took rather longer for *Olivier* to get there -- and Porthos and Aramis know *that*... 

And are getting perilously close to taking Athos to task for not *sharing* the knowledge. 

(Precisely how long are you going to let them suffer *this* time, amant?) 

It's like you don't want me to have *any* fun, lover -- 

(*Arse* --) 

Treville clears his *throat* -- 

Athos takes a much-needed breath -- 

Aramis *ceases* the process of crawling over the back of the couch to get *to* Athos -- 

Porthos stops *looming* over Athos -- 

Jason hums and sits on his *heels* -- 

And Treville nods, stands, and tops off everyone's wine -- opening another bottle midway through the process. 

"Right, thank you, sir, but --" 

"*But*, *before* you lay into your *brother* for not informing you, wholly out of the blue, that his *godfather* --" 

"*Shit* --" 

"-- enjoyed the *highly* sexualized company of men *and* boys to go along with the more politically expedient women -- such as his *mother* --" 

Aramis *coughs* -- "Ah. This... does make a great deal of sense." 

Treville nods and turns to Porthos with an eyebrow up.

Porthos winces and looks queasy. "I -- was mostly thinking, you know, about how Athos knew all about my *fantasies* about you, sir --" 

"And that *that* should have made it easier for him to talk about *this*, yes, I see," Treville says, and wags his head before turning to Athos. "What say you, son?" 

"I believe, in the end..." Athos smiles wryly -- and *ruefully* and wryly at his brothers. "I was thinking of you -- and the three of *us* -- as our *Captain's* *subordinates*, brothers. I rather tended to put the Athos who had a *godfather* -- a godfather who, from time to time, went whoring with his *exceedingly* male lover, and who was formerly lovers with his parents and several other *people*, with whom he *also* went whoring... well. I put that Athos away, until it was time to return home to Thomas, or to come to dinner *with* my godfather." 

And they're all wounded for that. All *hurt* -- "Son..." 

"It's been -- better. So much *better*," Athos says, and smiles with soft *joy*. "I've had the opportunity, this last little while, to be entirely myself nearly all the time --" 

"Right, so can we kill that 'nearly', brother?" 

Athos blinks up into Porthos's eyes. "We do still need to do our *duty*, Porthos."

"Got something for you, brother. For *all* of us," Porthos says, and jerks his chin at Aramis, as well. 

Aramis raises an eyebrow and leans in, letting his hands dangle between his knees in the least-studied pose he's used since he'd *arrived* -- "I am listening, Porthos." 

"As am I, brother. What...?" 

Porthos nods. "Right, here it is: I bloody *dare* us -- all three of us -- to be *honest*. To be who we *are*. To do what we *need* to do in *order* to be who we are." 

"Ah..." 

"I. All the time?" And Athos is blinking rapidly. 

"All. The sodding. *Time*." 

Aramis starts to lick his lips -- *stops*, and then licks his *teeth*. "You... dare us, you say?" 

Porthos lifts his chin. "Too sodding right, brother." 

Athos stops blinking -- and his eyes heat. "Accepted, brother." 

Aramis smiles slowly. "Oh, yes, brother. *Accepted*." 

And that is... mm. Treville does his *very* best -- which, at this point, is very *good* -- to hide a goodly portion of just how *hard* he's getting behind *many* walls -- 

(For once... I can't *entirely* disagree with this...) 

Exactly, lover. Now... 

(Now...?) 

Treville clears his *throat*, interrupting the heated looks his sons are giving each other not a little mournfully -- 

And Aramis *immediately* inhales sharply -- 

*Slashes* open -- not just scratches -- his forearm -- 

"Crumbling *revenants* --" 

"Shut it and eat your dessert, mate," Porthos says, flaring his nostrils and licking his lips. "I mean, 's not like it doesn't smell right tasty to *me* -- and that's *worrying*. Uh. Sir..." 

"Mm? Ah. You're a dog now, son. These things happen." 

"Right, right, but am I going to want to *eat* people?" 

Jason slaps a preservation spell on Aramis's wound. "You will, in fact --" 

"Lover." 

"*Amant*, you must let me *teach*!" 

"I will *absolutely* let you teach. All the time. Every *day*. *But*." And Treville nods to Aramis -- 

Aramis *burns* at Jason, amber-brown eyes flaring in entirely human ways -- 

The mild pain in his scent is blending with the faint acridity of his paint -- 

The musk of the night's arousal -- 

His *sweat* -- 

Jason growls. "*Fine*, but if *I* have to show my inner ravening *beast*, then so do *you*." 

"Ravening -- what --" 

"Just a moment, Porthos," Treville says, and meets Jason's eyes, steady and clear. "Honesty, then. Above all things." 

"Honesty, my brother. My love. Honesty and *openness*." 

"Done," Treville says, and takes the *lead* off -- 

Rolls his head on his neck -- 

*Growls* -- 

"What -- sir...?" And Aramis smells confused and looks calculating -- 

Possibly -- *possibly* -- the other way around. 

Athos is blinking and stunned -- and looks as though he'd seen a ghost. Perhaps 'Fearless'.

And Porthos...

Porthos is flaring his nostrils over and over and *over* again. 

"You smell me, don't you, son." 

"I smell... uh. You smell about a *thousand* times *hotter* than you did a *minute* ago, sir, and I don't..." Porthos looks down and *frowns* -- "You're *not* harder. I mean. *Are* you?" 

Treville snorts. "We both would've noticed that, son." 

Porthos coughs. "I -- then *what*?" 

Treville doesn't move into Porthos's space -- no. "I want to be closer to you right now." 

"Oh -- uh." 

Treville nods. "Jason and I -- we decided to stop hiding from you boys behind privacy walls. *One* of the reasons Jason is uncomfortable binding all of you is that it forces him to put his *demon* side -- not even just his *animal* side -- on display for all to see. We *both* needed me to do the same, inasmuch as that's possible." 

"Uh. So what you're saying is that you were pinning your cock back this whole time." 

"Nailing it back between my cheeks and sealing the whole operation with a nice, thick pitch --" 

"At this point," Jason drawls, "he truly is hoping to make *all* of us less erect." 

*Aramis* looks -- *glares* -- at Treville's crotch. "Your trousers are too loose!" 

"No, they are *not*, son, because I have a *knot* --" 

"He truly does," Jason says, helpfully --

"-- and it is *very* large, and, sadly, I have reached a point in my career where I *don't* want most of the people I spend time with to know that." 

There's a moment's pause -- 

The fire crackles and pops -- 

Treville raises an *eyebrow* -- 

His boys share a look -- 

His boys share a look with *Jason* -- 

And then Athos stands straight, clears his throat, and says, "I can't help but feel deeply wounded by this state of affairs, sir, and wish to find some way to rectify it to all of our benefit."


	8. Five is the magic number. *nods sagely*

Treville stares at his godson for -- a bit. 

And then he licks his lips. 

And then he *stops* that, because -- "Son." 

"Yes, sir." 

"Son, did you..." 

"Yes, sir?" 

"Did you just *proposition* me?" 

"Well..." 

"Mm?" 

"I was doing my best to proposition everyone in this room, sir. *For*... everyone in this room. And Thomas." Athos says, nodding once and then drawing himself up even more. 

It's a truly impressive show of soldierly rectitude -- or it would've been, if Porthos hadn't picked that moment -- 

"Good *show*, mate," he says, clapping Athos on the shoulder and sending him staggering -- 

A bit -- 

"Oh -- *shit* -- I didn't mean --" 

Jason coughs into his fist. "You will be stronger now, Porthos. Shifters always are." 

"Bloody *hell* --" 

"It's quite all right, brother; I've always enjoyed violent sexuality." 

There's a *moment* -- 

A log crumbles in the fireplace -- 

And then Jason *snarls*. "Aramis." 

"Yes, M'sieu Blood...?" 

"How do *you* feel about violent sexuality?" 

Aramis purses his painted lips. "As though it must *only* be shared with the worthy... Jason." 

Jason growls low, violent, and *heavy* -- 

It sucks half the air from the *room* -- 

They're all swaying and *staggering* -- 

"Tell me, Aramis, how you define *worth*." 

Aramis *pants* -- 

Shudders -- 

And then arches his back just so and tosses his *hair* -- "*Worth*, Jason, is *only*... *only* found among those who... who..." 

"Yes, Aramis...?" And Jason growls *again*, more softly this time -- 

Athos falls to his *knees* before Porthos can *catch* him -- 

Aramis *grunts* -- 

Treville's cock *aches* -- 

And Aramis's eyes are... heavy-lidded. His lashes *flutter*. "My Jason wishes to hear his whore... speak?" 

"Your Jason wishes to hear every little thing which comes out of *your* mouth. Who you are to me has yet to be negotiated -- and it must *be* negotiated, mon grand." 

Aramis *purrs* -- "But I am so little...?" And he drags an unsteady finger along the edge of the preserved wound. "So... tender...?" 

"That must be negotiated as *well*... but perhaps somewhat *less*," Jason says, and shows *his* teeth. 

Aramis narrows his eyes *acquisitively* -- 

Porthos *cups* his cock -- 

Athos grips Porthos's *thigh* -- 

And, this time, Jason's growl is a rake at the air. "Tell me of *worth*." 

"Worth, my Jason, is found among those who know what they wish, and share what they wish, and *give* what they wish to give --" 

"And only those things, mon grand...?" 

"Oh, no, no, no, my Jason. But... a good start can be made among those men," Aramis says, and licks shamelessly dry lips. "As well as among the men among *them* who never, ever, *ever* stop asking *questions*." 

"Of those they wish to give things to, Aramis...?" 

"Of *all*." 

Treville rumbles -- 

Aramis *flashes* him a smile that doesn't need the paint to make him look half his age -- 

And Jason uses the shadows to tilt Aramis's head back down until they're looking into each other's eyes once more. "Tell me I may disturb you, mon grand." 

"You do not think you have already done this thing...?" 

"No. I don't." 

Aramis's grin is *delighted*. "Do it. *Disturb* me -- *ahn* -- fuck -- *fuck* -- *please*!" 

And Treville reaches *gently* with his power -- and finds Jason shadowing Aramis's *entire* soul. 

He doesn't *have* to hold Aramis's *body* still -- everything about him is *swallowed* within Jason's power even as Jason licks and laps and suckles and... 

Well. 

(You shut it, amant.) 

Weren't we going to avoid the privacy walls, lover?

(I...) 

You...?

And Jason growls and *breathes* until he and Aramis are *entirely* separate people again -- 

Aramis slumps back against the couch, dazed and sweating and hard as *steel* -- 

"Oi, you'll get his paint all mussed!" 

Athos whips a handkerchief out and then frowns at it as he *obviously* realizes that he hasn't the faintest clue what to *do* with it -- 

And Jason laughs softly and shakes himself like the animal he is. 

Treville hauls him up to his feet and into a nice, respectable clinch -- 

(Oh, amant, I -- I --) 

It's all fun and games until the beautiful children seduce *you*, yes. I *know*. 

(*Fuck*. I didn't mean to -- I --) 

Catch your breath, lover, Treville says, and licks him all over his face. We'll all talk like adults in a minute. 

(Yes. *Yes* -- please.) 

Treville rumbles and starts nuzzling. "You taste perfect, by the way." 

Jason snorts ruefully. "I *taste* like wine, smoke, metal, and the blood of two of your four *children*." 

"It's true that you *could* taste like the other two, as well --" 

"And spend! Do not forget spend," Aramis says, breathless and still spiritually drunk -- 

"I never could, son --" 

"Neither could *I*," Porthos says, and licks his lips. His eyes have a mad green gleam as he looks Aramis over, and he's *absolutely* gripping the still-dazed Athos by the *hair*. 

"Oh -- Porthos." 

"Brother," Porthos says, and flares his nostrils. "You've always been a good-smelling man, but..." 

Aramis grins sharply. "You like *these* scents, my Porthos?" 

"I *like* *that* -- and a whole lot of other things in this *room*," he says, and that green gaze *rakes* over all of them, stripping and touching and *fucking* *indiscriminately*." 

Aramis *purrs* again -- 

The hand Athos has splayed on Porthos's broad chest starts slowly, *slowly* sliding *down* -- 

Jason flares *his* nostrils --

Raises an eyebrow at *him* -- 

And he doesn't have to say a *word* for Treville to know that they're rapidly running out of time to have anything *like* a conversation. Just -- 

Fuck, Porthos is *pushing* Athos's hand down to his crotch while staring *promisingly* at Aramis, and there is -- 

There is so very much here that he *wants*, and wants for his sons alone, and wants for *Jason* and his sons, and -- 

No. He has to *think* -- and that's what he'll do. He *barks* a call for attention -- 

And thanks everything he can that it works well enough that his boys stop and *look* at him. Jason rests a steadying hand on his shoulder and squeezes -- 

And Treville breathes in a braided wall of musk that makes his mouth water and his mind -- 

Jason squeezes him *harder* -- 

Treville nods. "Right. I'm going to keep this simple, boys. First: There are bedroom suites here for absolutely *all* of you, and you are not only *welcome* to use them, I am *asking* you to use them. At least one --" 

"Sir, we *want* you --" 

"Wait, Porthos. Just wait." 

Porthos frowns at him -- 

He's still bloody gripping Athos's *hand* on his *belly* -- 

Treville looks *up* -- 

Porthos breathes deep and *looks* at him -- 

"Son. I'm asking you to wait." 

Porthos swallows and nods. "I -- yes, sir. I'll wait." 

"Thank you. *Two*. We all know that *Athos* wants everyone in this room to have sex with everyone else in this room --" 

Athos opens his mouth -- 

"As well as with Thomas, and we will all reiterate this when the *time* comes, son." 

Athos nods. "Sir." 

Treville nods. "What we *don't* know is how *everyone other than Athos* feels about the matter --" 

"*Oi* --" 

"What we *do* know is that, less than thirty minutes ago, Porthos, you were uncomfortable with the idea of *looking at my cock*, and? Four hours ago, *neither* you nor Aramis had so much as laid eyes on Jason Blood." 

"One," Porthos says, "I can *smell* you now -- smell the *real* you -- and that's driving me mad in every *good* way." 

"I --" 

"Two," Aramis says, and wiggles his fingers, "I can see in Jason's *mind* that *neither* you nor Jason wasted time on bland *pleasantries* before you began giving each other *all* of yourselves. Everything true. Everything *real*." 

"Son --" 

"Three," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow, "This night -- these *weeks* -- have taught me, time and again, in *multiple* painful ways, that I have deprived myself and the people I love, need, and *respect* the most of... love. Care. Warmth. Sweetness. Desire and lust and *honesty*. Sir... you must not allow *all* of us to compound these *errors*." 

"That's it, sir and Jason. Three's the magic number," Porthos says, and pooches up his face like some old worthy in a teahouse. "You've got to give in, drop your trousers, and let us polish your knobs for you." 

"Polish --" Jason's expression is truly, deeply pained. 

Treville... has never in his life been more proud. He yanks on Jason's queue. "Quit being delicate and strip, lover. We've orders to follow." 

Jason sighs dramatically and turns to Aramis -- while using his shadows to strip them both. "I'll need your help, mon grand." 

"Oh, yes, my Jason? With what!" 

"When *these* two have stripped me of all dignity and reserve, and left me a drooling, artless *boor*... I will need you to drag me out of the gutter --" 

"It truly will just be the lake of smoky spend you leave on my sheets, lover --" 

"-- and *remind* me of how to be a *person*." 

Athos hums. "We're allowed to ask for help with such things? If so --" 

"Absolutely *not*, brother," Porthos says, and strips Athos the old-fashioned way. "Thomas would poison us all in *mean* ways if you ever stopped being a complete drooling idiot for him." 

"Hm. I..." 

"Mm? What is it, brother?" And Aramis stands to offer himself for the shadows -- 

Jason grins precisely as rapaciously as he *should* -- 

Athos frowns as Porthos tugs his kerchief off *slowly* -- "It's only..." 

"Yeah, mate?" Or it's possible that Porthos had said something else. The kerchief is in his mouth -- 

"I had always assumed my drooling idiocy in the face of Thomas's grace, beauty, seductiveness, sensuality, et cetera... I assumed it was a terrible *hardship* for him." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "Did he *say* this, my brother?" 

"No --" 

"Did he *imply* it," Porthos says. Or, again, something else -- he's chewing on the kerchief now.

"No, but --" 

"Does he, my brother, look at you with a certain gleam in his eyes even as you drool and gibber your heartfelt appreciation --" 

"I -- I also..." 

"Yeah, mate?" 

"I... clutch him. And throw him. And... bruise..." 

"My brother. Do you *ravish* your little brother...?" 

Athos is flushed from somewhere under his fringe to his *navel*, and... there are no words happening at the moment. 

Treville clears his throat. "I should say, sons, that in the eleven or so years that I have been *aware* of their relationship?" 

"Oh, yes, sir?" 

"Mm?"

"Well. *I* haven't seen any of Thomas's bare flesh other than his face or *hands* since he was thirteen." 

The silence falls -- 

Lasts -- but only until Jason uses his shadows to -- 

"Yee!" 

\-- tickle the backs of Aramis's bare knees. 

Porthos tugs Athos's kerchief out of his mouth. "Nice, that." 

"I simply *live* to oblige," Jason says.

Aramis flashes Jason a *hotly* coquettish look -- 

Jason sends a shadow out to *lock* around one of Aramis's wrists -- mm.

Well. They'll be fine. Treville turns back to Athos. "Did that answer the question, son?" 

"I... Thomas *enjoys* my *flailing*. It -- it isn't just that I please him *incidentally* --" 

Porthos snorts -- "Did he not *tell* you you were doing a bang-up job at it?" 

"Oh, he *did*, but -- I've always been so *rough* with him --" 

Treville nods and hums. "It didn't seem *correct*, yes, I see." 

"*Yes*. I --" 

"Even though you've always lost your *mind* when he was violent with *you*," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"I..." 

Treville raises it *higher*. 

"Mate, are you thinking something about Thomas being smaller and weaker and it not making *sense* for him to like it rough?" 

"Not... anymore?" 

Porthos *guffaws* -- 

"Son, I could honestly listen to you do that all day and all night *every* day," Treville says, and can't actually stop himself from reaching up to cup his face -- 

To stroke his luxuriantly thick beard with his thumb -- 

Already so *soft* -- 

Porthos shivers, wide-eyed and staring. "You uh. You like my beard, sir?" 

"Very much so, son. I've always loved a good beard." 

Athos laughs quietly. "Remind me to tell you about Uncle Kitos's beard, brother." 

"What, am I about to be jealous?" And Porthos grins back and forth between him and Athos. 

"You absolutely are, son. The beard on Kitos's face started at his eyebrows and went down to his belly --" 

Porthos splutters --

"And his other beard started a few inches lower than that --" 

"Oh my God --" 

"And leveled off at around mid-thigh, I'd say," Treville says, and nods judiciously again, giving Porthos's beard a gentle tug. 

"Spent a bit of time *grooming* that beard, did you?" 

"With my *long* tongue, son," he says, and lolls it -- 

Porthos *coughs* a laugh -- 

Treville winks and puts his tongue *away* -- "It really was the only way to *find* those bollocks."

Porthos sobers himself with an *effort* -- and grins. "And you were -- uh. *Motivated* to do that search, I take it." 

"As often as humanly possible, son -- from the very first day we met, when I was fourteen and he was just about to turn fifteen. It took us a bit of time to work that out, though." 

"I hear that, sir. Everyone's an idiot when they're young, eh?" 

"*Exactly*, son -- and believe me when I say that I was even more of an idiot than most," Treville says, and smiles wryly, turning to Athos. "Your brother knows a *fair* number of these tales, but..." And Treville raises an eyebrow. 

Athos blushes. "I've... utterly failed to share them in anything like a timely fashion --" 

"Or at all, son...?" 

Athos smiles ruefully. "It's quite hard to think of many of those stories applying to *you*, sir." 

Treville blinks -- 

Porthos is looking back and forth between them -- 

Jason is -- Treville checks --

Jason is sitting on the couch with Aramis, both of them *quite* naked, and he's showing Aramis *something* deep in a writhing clutch of shadows between them. 

Aramis is staring in *avid* fascination at the shadows, leaning in with his lips parted and his eyes wide -- 

And Jason is touching him absolutely *nowhere* save for their twined fingers. That...

(We both know *precisely* how much I'm feeding myself on this, amant,) Jason says, and his voice is soft and... sweetly happy. Sweetly *pleased*.

Still -- you could consider filling your plate a *little* more, lover. 

(Like you are...? With your *fingertips* ever so gently pressed to your son's *facial* hair?) 

I -- hm. 

Jason turns to grin and *laugh* at him -- 

Still so *softly* -- 

And the only thing to do is bow and flourish as *obnoxiously* as possible -- 

Athos hums -- 

Porthos snorts and shoves him -- gently. "*Watch* that, sir." 

"Hmm... no." 

"*Arse* -- I mean -- *sir* --" 

Treville snickers *hard* -- 

Athos shakes his head. "This is one of the reasons why I kept the two parts of my life separate, brother. It can be *exceedingly* hard to remember to keep myself *correct* around my *Uncle* and *godfather* --" 

"*Good*," Treville says, and claps Athos on the shoulder -- 

"As opposed to my *Captain* --" 

"I --" 

"Who I must *appear* with --" 

"All right, but --" 

"-- at the *palaces* --" 

"Hm." 

"-- all the *time*," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow. "*Sir*." 

Treville sighs happily and grips his perfect godson by the *cock* -- 

"*Fuck* --" 

"It truly is impressive that you can enunciate like that when you're this hard, son," Treville says, cupping Athos's hip with his free hand and starting to stroke *good* and violently. 

"*NNH* --" 

"Oh, that's got it, sir," Porthos says, eyes gleaming just a little and tongue peeking. 

Treville nods judiciously. "We do what we can, son." 

Porthos nods right back. "He uh. He does it a little slower than that, though." 

"Does he, now. When you're all out together...?" 

"Fuck. Fuck. *Fuck*." 

Porthos growls low and *animal*. "That he does, sir. Aramis and I, we put him in the middle. We can *always* hear *exactly* what he's -- oh, yeah. Yeah. Like that..." And Porthos licks his lips and *pants* -- 

Athos squeezes his eyes shut -- 

Clenches his fists -- 

Holds himself *rigid* -- and that won't do, at all. 

"Open your eyes, son..." 

"I -- I --" 

"*Open*."

"*Sir* -- I --" And Athos obeys, blinking and staring and panting and *sweating* -- 

Porthos growls *hungrily* -- 

"*Good* boy," Treville says, leaning in to lick a long stripe along his throat -- just a little saltier where that kerchief had been. 

Porthos is *absolutely* still holding it -- hm... 

"Porthos." 

"Uhh. Yes, sir?" 

"Were you planning to do... something with Athos's kerchief...?" 

Athos's eyes fly open *wide* -- 

He *looks* at Porthos -- 

And Porthos laughs hard and *ruefully*. 

"Mm...?" 

"Right, sir, now I'm actually *embarrassed* about wanting to toss myself off with it --" 

Athos makes a strangled sound -- 

"-- which I don't think is fair, at all, considering how *much* Athos sweats in it." 

"You're absolutely right, son. You have my apologies," Treville says, and gives Athos a *rough* squeeze -- 

Athos *shouts* --

"*Thank* you, sir," Porthos says. "For all of that, actually. Mm." 

"You're *entirely* welcome, son. But." 

"Mm?" 

"It's still criminal that you were planning to toss yourself off with that kerchief." 

"*Oi* --" 

"Son," Treville says, and *looks* at his magnificent boy. "That beautiful cock of yours belongs, at the *very* least, in someone *else's* hand." 

Porthos grunts -- and turns his gaze *slowly* to Treville's hands on Athos. He stares, hungry and *fixed* -- 

He *stares*, and Treville *can't* do anything but stroke Athos harder, faster, *meaner* -- 

Athos *whines* -- 

Jerks into Treville's *fist* -- 

"That's it, son... that's right... everything's just right," Treville says, and -- he's absolutely speaking to both of his sons -- 

All *three* of his sons -- 

(I'm *so* very glad that you're coming, slowly, to know yourself, amant.) 

Says the man who hasn't even *noticed* the shadows creeping up in range of a *ravishing* over here -- 

(Oh -- Hecate's *cunt* --) And Jason *starts* to draw the shadows back and away from them -- 

"Oi, wait --" And Porthos reaches out and *grabs* the nearest one, quick and sure as you please -- 

Jason *grunts*, cock jerking hard over there as he sits on the couch with Aramis -- 

Aramis blinks at it -- 

Looks *unerringly* to Porthos -- 

Porthos *grins* at Aramis -- 

Aramis grins *wickedly* back -- 

And Porthos starts tossing the shadow *off*. 

"Murdering -- *fuck*," Jason says, and starts sweating *beautifully*. The conjuring in his palm stutters -- 

"You can't just take these *away* from us, Jason," Porthos says, in a *bad* impression of a scold. "We were just getting to *know* each other and such." 

"I -- I --" 

Treville grins. "Go on, son -- do *exactly* what I'm doing," he says, and nods to Athos's tackle. 

"Oh -- *oh*. You're going to *use* me," Athos says, and grins *wildly*. 

"As a *teaching* aid, son," Treville says, and licks Athos's mouth -- 

*Bites* it -- 

"*Hnh* --" 

"We've got to *train* your brothers *properly*, mm?" 

"*Yes*, sir -- *please*, sir --" 

"That's *right*. Are you watching, Porthos?" 

"You have a *large* fraction of my attention, sir," Porthos says, and grins into Treville's eyes -- 

Continues to stroke off that shadow *expertly* -- but not *quite* the right way. 

"Well, you can help with that." 

"And I *will*," Treville says. "Grip my shoulders, Athos."

"*Yes*, sir --" 

"Oh -- *please*, hold my shoulders *firmly*, my Jason," Aramis says.

"I -- *fuck* --" 

Treville shows just a *few* more of his teeth -- 

"That expression is right inspiring, sir," Porthos says -- 

"Happy to oblige, son," Treville says, cupping Athos's bollocks with his free hand --

"Sir -- s-sir --" 

Squeezing *viciously* -- 

"*Yes*!" 

"Oh, Athos..." Treville licks a goodly portion of his face. "Don't you think you should be thanking me...?" 

"*Yes*, sir, *thank* you, sir!" 

"*Good* boy. On to your tasks, Porthos and Aramis --" 

"We are listening *very* closely, sir," Aramis says -- 

"That we *are*, sir," Porthos says, and he's absolutely still stroking off that shadow -- 

And Aramis is cupping and *warming* Jason's cock *precisely* as if he's been taught to be the most vicious tease *imaginable* -- 

"I have, sir!" 

Treville sighs happily. "Thank you for many, many beautiful dreams, son. This," Treville says, and squeezes Athos's cock almost -- but not quite -- like he means to take it with him -- 

Athos *screams* -- 

"*Fuck*, sir --" 

"You boys should *absolutely* use just a trifle more force than that..."

"Uh." 

Aramis gurgles -- 

Porthos *looks* at the shadow in his fist -- 

And then Jason *pants* -- "*Please*!" 

And Aramis and Porthos grip reflexively -- 

And Jason pants -- 

And pants -- 

And Athos sobs *brokenly* and *shakes* -- 

And *both* Jason and Athos groan out all their air and sway, just a little. 

"Now, boys," Treville says, and *judders* his way through a stroke, mean and rough and arrhythmic -- 

*Brutally* arrhythmic -- 

Athos is dancing on his feet in *moments* -- 

Jason is practically *barking* out cries -- 

Aramis is moaning *quietly* -- 

"Bloody *hell*, sir..." 

"Thoughts, Porthos...?" 

"Uhh..." 

"Mm?" 

"Is that what you want to do to *my* cock?" 

"Only if you want it, son," Treville says, and drags one of his more abrasive calluses over the head of Athos's cock while squeezing even harder -- 

Athos *howls* -- 

"Oh -- *yeah* --" 

And Porthos does the same thing *as* Aramis does -- 

And Jason *growls* his way through two *choked* sobs -- 

The wall-sconces aren't doing a bloody thing to light the *room* anymore -- but. The fire still is. 

Good enough. 

"I'm uh. Going to assume that all this means it's *working* for Jason..." 

"It absolutely is, son." 

"I'm..." 

"Mm?" 

"I'm kind of... tossing off his *power*. I mean --" 

"Not *kind* of, son. You couldn't really be fucking it more if you *were* using your cock," Treville says, leaning in to *bite* Athos's throat -- 

"Please! I mean -- *thank* you! Thank you! *Sir*!" 

Treville pulls back with a growl -- "Faster. Faster now." 

"Yeah --" 

"*Yes*, sir --" 

And Treville *works* Athos's cock, works it hard, works it fast and twisting and *rough* -- 

Tastes the tears rolling down his cheeks on the air -- 

*Bites* them off his face as Athos groans and jerks and bucks and nods and *begs* -- 

Thanks him and *begs* -- 

And dreams of more. 

*More*. 

But there are still things which need to be said. Things which *aren't* being said, even with Treville's slick spattering everything -- 

Even with Jason writhing and twisting and *snarling* -- 

Even with Jason's shadows reaching for absolutely all of them and trembling to *touch* -- 

*Filling* all of them with their master's *ache* -- 

There are things which need to be *said*. 

"What -- what *things*, sir?" And Porthos licks his lips and grabs for another of the reaching shadows with his free hand -- 

Brings it to his mouth and *bites* -- 

And that -- 

Jason howls and *pounds* Aramis's fist, one *shove* after another while Aramis makes appreciative noises and works *him* -- 

While Porthos *hums* and works those *shadows* -- 

While every *other* shadow chokes the whole *room* off -- 

Makes everything heavy and thick and so -- 

So -- 

Athos staggers and grips Treville's shoulders *convulsively* -- 

And Treville moves his hand from Athos's balls, wraps his arm round Athos's waist and crushes them together, works him, *works* him -- 

Thrusts against his hip and *works* him -- 

"Yes, sir -- oh, *yes*, sir --" 

Treville *snarls* and bites hard, bites the join of Athos's throat and shoulder -- 

Athos does his damnedest to shove his flesh into Treville's *mouth* -- and then there's blood, fresh and hot and metal-sweet, *vital* -- 

And of course Jason is tasting through Treville, but even if he didn't *know* that, he *would* know that by the way Jason grunts and spills *then* -- 

Right *then*, filling the air with smoke and musk and slick heat -- 

"Oh, my Jason... will you always fill my hands with such wealth...?" 

"*Fuck*," Jason says, laughing hard and breathlessly -- 

Treville can feel him *relaxing* -- 

The thrill for that is the same as it always is, the same needy, hungry *triumph* -- 

He growls and *slurps* up Athos's blood -- 

Delicious, so -- 

Nips his way to Athos's ear and growls *more* -- 

"Sir -- *sir* --" 

"Don't you think you ought to spend for me, son...?" 

"I -- don't..." 

"Why not. Mm...?" 

"I don't want to lose your *hands*," Athos says, and it's all a breathless *rush*. 

Treville rumbles and squeezes his godson *tight*, arm and hand -- 

Athos screams and jitters -- 

Spatters them *both* with slick -- 

He won't last no matter *what* -- but. 

"You could have my hands... other places..." 

A garbled noise. 

"You could have... other hands entirely." 

"... fuck." 

"You haven't starved yourself, son. You've been wise enough to avoid that. But... you're even wiser than that now. Aren't you." 

Athos opens his mouth -- and a desperate, needy groan *falls* out. 

Treville growls and bites Athos's scarred lip *hard* before pulling back -- *exactly* far enough to make room. 

"I --" 

"Shh. Porthos." 

"*Right* here, sir." 

"*Start* showing your brother what he's been missing," Treville says, and rubs and rubs at the head of Athos's cock -- 

"Hnh -- nuh --" 

"Anything you bloody say," Porthos says, *yanking* Athos's head to the side and fucking the *hell* out of his mouth in a kiss so violent that it would've done Laurent proud. And -- 

Absolutely *all* of his boys perk *curiously* for that. 

Athos perks so curiously that there's even more slick all over Treville's hands. Mm. That bears thought. 

For now... "Porthos... hurt him." 

Porthos *snarls* into Athos's mouth -- 

Athos shakes like a leaf and *bucks* into Treville's hand before Porthos even *does* anything -- and, once the bites start, Athos starts *fucking* Treville's fist fast and ragged and *violently*. 

In and in and -- 

Oh, those are some beautiful thoughts -- 

Beautiful *dreams*, and Treville is going to make them happen, every one he *can* -- 

(Please, *yes*, sir!) 

*Fuck*, Athos, son -- *spend*!

(I --) 

And then there's screaming, so much beautiful and heartfelt *screaming* -- loud and free inside their soul-space and muffled and slurred without -- 

And Treville realizes that he'd begun *pumping* Athos's bollocks -- 

*Torturing* -- 

Ah, *fuck* -- 

(Th-thank --) 

And the rest is an awkwardly shared white-out *flash* of wild pleasure, *thundering* pleasure that steals the breath and leaves -- 

Leaves -- 

Treville comes back to himself gasping and *working* Athos's cock and bollocks -- 

Staggering -- 

Porthos is *gripping* Athos round the chest, shoving against his hip, and biting his *ear* -- 

Aramis *seems* to have been in the middle of feeding Jason his own spend from his fingertips, but has collapsed *on* Jason -- who is staring at absolutely nothing. 

(Not true, amant. I am staring at *multiple* vivid fantasies that Athos is having of you *flogging* him on Thomas's *instructions*.) 

Treville opens his mouth -- 

Closes it -- 

*Stops* torturing his godson's tackle -- 

Athos makes a *mournful* sound, but responds well to petting once they're all *mostly* recovered from spending *with* him -- 

"I..." 

"Yes, son?" 

"How on earth did I *do* that?" And Athos looks back and forth between him and Jason, *obviously* hoping for answers -- 

Treville looks to *Jason* -- 

Porthos ignores all of it, sniffs Athos's sweaty hair, rumbles, and pulls the man closer for more petting. 

"Oh -- hm. I rescind the question until -- later --" 

"Nice, that," Porthos says, and chews on Athos's ear while Athos looks positively overjoyed to be alive. 

Which means it's an excellent time to clear up just a few more misunderstandings before they go *further* -- 

"Mm? Which misunderstandings are these...?" And Aramis is *painting* a blissful Jason's lips with spend, which -- 

Treville checks -- 

Yes, Jason is using his fire-magery to keep the spend warm. All right, then. 

"Sometime when you haven't *thoroughly* destroyed Jason's ability to function, Aramis?" 

"Yes?" 

"I... mm," Jason licks and *smacks* his lips. "What mon amant wishes *me* to say," Jason says, cupping Aramis's wrist and *kissing* his fingertips before looking to Porthos and Athos -- 

"We're listening, mate." 

Athos nods once -- 

Jason smiles ruefully. "I have known you, Athos, since not long after your father and I *began*. You made a *space* for me in your life with little information save knowing that your father had made a space for me in *his* --" 

"That truly is more than *enough* information for me at this late date, Jason," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow. 

"Mm, *well*. You made an even *larger* space for me when you knew more *of* me -- and I came to know you. And I knew *precisely* why your father had made such *vast* spaces for you and Thomas." 

Athos blushes -- "I -- thank you, of course, but --" 

Jason raises two long, spidery fingers. 

"I was there when your *other* brothers came to you, for all that we did not *meet* until tonight. I watched you with them, from a distance. I watched them *without* you -- also from a distance. And *not* from a distance, at times." 

"Uhh." 

Jason laughs softly. "I had to know the men my loves had let so far into their hearts, Porthos. Their *souls* --" 

"The men... you had not been introduced to," Aramis says, and frowns *deeply*. And then sends a *hot* look at Treville. 

Athos smiles ruefully. "Before you grow incensed with our father, Aramis, please remember who he must be, and the secrets he must keep --" 

"*No* --" 

"For the sake of *our* lives and health." 

Aramis growls. "He is not being so cautious *tonight*." 

"Because," Athos says, "*I* decided to pull down the walls that *I* put up. The walls *he* thought I wanted and needed --"

"He shouldn't --" 

"-- because *I* thought I wanted and needed them," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis growls more. "It is not *correct*." 

"No, it isn't." And Athos crosses the room and strokes Aramis's beard with his fingertips. "But the mistakes were rather... shared." 

Aramis flares his nostrils -- 

Cocks his head to the side --

And then looks to Jason. "And you would say about this?" 

Jason smiles wryly. "That, despite having the option -- and heartfelt *invitation* -- to share *everything* with Treville -- a life, a home, a day-to-day existence of endless warmth and companionship and *intimacy* -- I chose, until *tonight* -- to nurse the *numerous* wounds on my spirit and stay *away*. 

This time, the hot look is aimed at Jason. 

Jason laughs brightly. "Oh, mon grand. Perhaps you will deign to allow us -- all of us -- to learn from *you*." 

The hot look *lasts* -- 

Shifts to something glittery and *bright* -- 

And then Aramis lifts his chin, just so. "You have *certainly* not earned the teaching of my good *mother*." 

"We'll just have to do better then," Treville says, and drags his fingers through the slick on his belly before slurping it off. 

"I..." Aramis stares at Treville's fingers -- 

At his sticky, furry belly -- 

And at his cock. 

"Mm. Bedroom?" 

Aramis frowns *angrily*. The paint, despite having lost some of its exactitude, makes it look positively *inviting*.

Treville hums. "No?" 

"It *angers* me that I have not spent more time studying the cocks of *dogs*." 

"Well, son, I promise to do everything in my *power* to help with that." 

"*You* are not --" 

Treville raises an eyebrow... while shifting his head.

Aramis goggles at him. With the paint, it looks like a debauch in progress, and -- yes. 

Athos is starting to look glassy-eyed again. 

Porthos looks increasingly *mad*... hm. They should probably watch that. 

Treville's dog agrees... provisionally.

It's true that a dog needs time and room to play.

Treville shifts back, gently pushing his dog *back* -- 

And Aramis licks his lips, which are their natural shade again. "I... suppose you *are* more than qualified to... teach." 

"I already know you value that, son..." 

"Yes," Aramis says, nodding and looking to all of them. "*All* of you do." 

"That's right," Treville says, as everyone nods. He cocks his head. "So...?" 

Aramis stands and moves close, splaying deft fingers just *above* the sprawl of Treville's belly-fur. 

Treville flares his nostrils -- and forces himself not to get *lost* in the braided scents of *all* of their lusts, their hungers, their *musks*. He focuses on *Aramis* -- and finds lust, hunger, desire -- and much, much more along those lines. 

But he also finds curiosity, calculation -- and hunger for knowledge. *Impatience*. 

Treville rumbles and covers the hand Aramis has on his chest with one of his own. "What can I tell you, son." 

Aramis narrows his eyes acquisitively. "You have already told me *one* thing, my Treville..." 

"Have I...?" 

"Oh, yes. That you are capable -- more than -- of teasing out the needs and desires of the people *you* desire even when your lusts run hot." 

Treville hums. "I do *try* to be worth a *little* more than the average *pillock*, son." 

"You are a *magnificently* above-average pillock," Jason says -- 

Treville nods and flourishes with his free hand -- 

Porthos laughs *big* -- 

Athos hums -- 

And Aramis studies him. Which... 

"Why don't you tell me what *else* you need to know, mm?" 

Jason and his other boys are watching this very, very closely... 

And Aramis nods. "I wish to know *you*, my Treville." 

"I won't hold *anything* back --" 

"This is so?" 

"Yes, son --" 

"Then tell me -- all of us -- when you *began* fucking your own *children*, my Treville --" 

Treville *coughs* -- 

"-- in your heart and soul, of course," Aramis says, and licks his teeth. "I understand you have not had the *opportunity* to act *out* your many dreams and fantasies until now."


	9. It's less a Daddy Issue than forty years' worth of a Daddy Subscription Service.

Jason is now *wheezing* laughter -- 

Athos is staring at something behind his own eyes which is *clearly* terrifying him -- but Porthos is moving in to cuddle and sniff and pet him. He'll be fine. 

('s right, sir. You uh. You throw yourself on *that* bomb,) Porthos says, effortlessly putting up a privacy wall to hide his speech from everyone *but* Treville -- and Jason, of course. 

Son --

(I know what's *good* for me, sir. And if *you* know what's good for *you*? You'll turn right round and focus on *Aramis*.) 

Right you *are*, Treville says, and does just that, finding those yellow-brown eyes utterly focused on him, utterly *dissecting* -- 

And almost certainly coming to all sorts of conclusions solely from how Treville had been looking at Porthos and Athos. 

Treville hums, lifts Aramis's hand from his chest to his mouth for a kiss -- 

Aramis raises a *pointed* eyebrow -- 

Treville raises one of his own. "I don't know how old I was when I fell in love with my own father..." 

There are choked noises to go along with Jason's laughter now, but Treville does not take his eyes away from Aramis, who is blinking. 

Treville smiles. "I was, however, *ten* when I figured it out, son -- after a *deeply* illuminating interlude with my right hand." 

"I..." 

"I asked myself any number of questions about the matter, of course -- that night and over the course of *years*. Was it merely lust? Was it admiration? Was it the passion of a son for a truly *wonderful* father? Something else entirely...?" 

"It... was not?" And Aramis's eyes are very, very wide. Even more stunning than usual with the paint. 

Treville grins and nuzzles Aramis's hand. "Those questions were a lot easier to answer once I *also* fell in love with my Dad's lieutenants -- every last one of them -- and could compare and contrast how I felt about them with how I felt about my Dad. What it felt *like*. What it all *meant*. What I *ached* for, alone in my bedroll at night as those brave, strong, wonderful men toted me along with them for one lesson after another in how to be the best possible soldier I could be... well. I knew, son. I knew."

Aramis swallows. "And what did these men -- and your father -- *do* about your feelings?" 

"The lieutenants did their very best to give the young, wild, *odd*, reckless, violent, mouthy, but *increasingly* *secretive* boy who had been given into their care by the commanding officer they all *worshiped*..." And Treville raises an eyebrow -- 

Aramis takes a breath and nods. "There is only so far they could go with you, yes, I see, but --" 

"*But*, they did their damnedest to *educate* me, son. To make sure I knew everything *they* knew about how to move through the world as a *rampant* buggerer in the French military *command* structure -- and the French *peerage*. They *gently* foiled my every attempt to jump down their trousers, and, when those attempts started becoming especially... vigorous, shall we say...?" 

"They took you whoring?" 

"That they did, son. Though they were protective even in *this* way. They only ever took me to *brothels* twice -- as opposed to smuggling likely boys and young men into the various camps *for* me. And watching over me like *hawks*... which led to still more fevered dreams, as I'm sure you can imagine...?" 

Aramis blinks rapidly -- "I -- and what of your *father*?" 

"I promised Darien -- who had taken point among the lieutenants for the overarching mission of protecting and guiding my adolescence -- that *I* would tell my Dad about the numerous secrets of my heart. The passions and hungers..." Treville takes a *deep* breath and shakes his head. "I promised Darien that I would do it when I *could*, son," he says, and smiles wryly. 

Aramis winces. "This did not -- you did not do it." 

"No, son. I managed -- with a *towering* effort and a *magnificent* amount of stammering -- to 'confess' to my Dad that I preferred 'going with' men and boys -- I absolutely couldn't be any more clear than that, not even with the man who had taught me fully ninety-five percent of the curses I use *now* -- and... well..." 

"Sir?" 

"Here," Treville says, and shares. 

_The General's quarters in their autumn posting outside of Toulouse seems as warm and welcoming and *palatial* as their estates outside of Paris after their long march from the north -- the weather has been unseasonably frigid for weeks._

_It looks a *lot* like the autumn campaign is going to come to nothing this year, despite all the careful preparation, despite all the *work* which had been done by everyone at *every* level of his father's regiments._

_His father is the *General*, and *everyone* who answers to him knows how to do their bloody *job*, and --_

_And so does he._

_That's why he's bloody *here*. Except._

_Except maybe his father -- his *Dad* -- won't *want* him here after --_

_"There you are!" And Dad pushes in with a grin on his beautiful face, sunlight from outside shining on the grey in his beard and moustache even as he closes the door. "I've been trying to get back here for --" He grunts and shakes his head. "You know exactly how I was going to end that sentence at *this* late date," he says, and swings off his heavy cloak before sitting down to work on his gauntlets._

_And._

_And he's there._

_He's tall, and strong, and *purposeful*._

_He's smiling and humming even as he does the simple, irritating work of getting out of pair of gauntlets with no help -- he never wants help for that, because most of the *men* don't have help for it._

_Getting the armor *on* is different._

_He's *there*, and --_

_And Jean-Armand has never in his life wanted to be anywhere *more* than he's wanted to be at his Dad's side. It --_

_He squeezes his eyes shut --_

_"Son? What's got you all twisted up, mm? You said last night that you needed to talk to me about something, and I'm sorry I had to put you off for so bloody long --"_

_"No, it's --"_

_"Don't even think of telling me it's all *right*, son," Dad says, flexing his rough, powerful hands once the gauntlets are gone, then peeling off the gloves, as well. "We both already know how we *both* feel about that." And Dad looks at him, steely and hard, and --_

_And Jean-Armand doesn't say: 'I've always wanted to be you.'_

_And he doesn't say: 'I would've settled for being exactly who you wanted me to be.'_

_And he doesn't say: 'Please never hate me, Dad. Please please please --'_

_"Son?" Dad frowns, lifting his nose a little -- "What's got my little terror so --" He gives himself a shake. "I'm sorry; I know I'm not to call you that anymore --"_

_Jean-Armand bites his lip -- no._

_*No*._

_He -- he bloody well belts *up*. Because -- because he has to, right now. He *has* to. He takes a breath, and he stands *straight*, and he faces *front* --_

_Dad nods once, frowning. "Go on, son. Tell me."_

_"I'm. I like --" And Jean-Armand feels like he's choking, like he's *strangling* on his own dried-right-down-to-the-hardpan throat, like he'll die right here, rooted to the floor like a tree too bloody *scared* to --_

_*No*._

_"I! Prefer. To go with *boys*. And *men*. Sir," Jean-Armand says, and now it's his blush he's strangling on, or maybe the hot tears he's doing his best to *will* back, or --_

_Or the way his Dad is just *looking* at him, just --_

_Blinking slowly and frowning *mildly*, as though Jean-Armand had said something *vaguely* confusing about the status of their *bean* supply an hour after they'd managed to capture the entire Spanish supply *train*. Or --_

_Jean-Armand doesn't know. He doesn't know *any*-bloody-thing. He just knows that he's standing here sweating and panting and damp-eyed and *shaking*, and Dad isn't --_

_"You... son. Is that *all*? That's the *only* thing you're worried about?"_

_Jean-Armand blinks. It. "Yes. Sir," he says, and nods. And blinks. And nods again._

_Dad licks his lips._

_Jean-Armand licks his own._

_Dad *bites* his lip --_

_Jean-Armand *stares* --_

_And then Dad throws his head back and *guffaws*, loud and booming and perfect, so perfect, always so --_

_So --_

_But --_

_"I -- Dad?"_

_"Son -- oh -- bloody *hell*, son, come *here*," Dad says, standing up and sweeping Jean-Armand into a hug --_

_Lifting him off his *feet* just like he's still *ten* instead of already being *fourteen*. It -- "*Dad* --"_

_"Oh, my little *terror*," Dad says, and squeezes the *breath* out of him --_

_"I --" Jean-Armand coughs out his *air* --_

_"At what point was I *not* supposed to *know* my little terror, mm?"_

_Jean-Armand *blinks*, and -- he can't. He -- pushes back, just a little._

_"All right, all right, I know that wasn't enough," Dad says, and smiles gently, and all the lines of warmth and love and care on his face cut deep. "How's this: A *good* commander knows what *all* of his men are about -- from top to bottom," he says, and raises his eyebrows._

_"Even. Even when he can't always... be there," Jean-Armand says, and his eyes are prickling again --_

_He's not --_

_He won't *cry* --_

_Dad brushes the tears away with his big, rough thumb. "We're never apart, son. Not in here," he says, and thumps his own chest before resting his hand on Jean-Armand's own. "I don't rightly think a man should call himself a father before his children live and laugh and love and sing in his heart -- no matter *what* songs they are, mm?"_

_"N-no -- I -- Dad --"_

_"And I also don't rightly think there's a man -- a *father* -- on this earth worth the *name* who could ever look at a boy like you and not see... well." Dad grins, bright and wide, and caresses Jean-Armand's face. "My son," he says, and laughs softly. Warmly. "They say our Félix is the lucky one in this army... but when I look at you? I know better."_

_Jean-Armand swallows around everything in his *throat* --_

_The need to say so much *more* --_

_The need to say *everything* --_

_He throws himself into hugging his Dad instead, and the comfort of his low, rumbling voice._

Treville pulls them all out of his memories -- and is not at all surprised to feel Jason's presence more *firmly* within him, despite the man himself not having moved from his space near Porthos and Athos. It -- 

I'm well, lover. I promise. 

(I know that. Still... I need, in this moment, for you to be *entirely* aware that there is warmth, and comfort, and love, and *home*, and everything else for you. Always for you.) 

Treville breathes -- and caresses Jason with grateful hunger. 

(Mon amant...) 

Yours, Treville says, and turns to their sons. 

Athos is studying him, as is Aramis. Porthos's expression is more *seeking* than studying -- and Treville can understand that, he thinks. 

"I'll tell you everything about your grandfather, son --" 

"My -- but. I guess I was... having that thought where just anyone could see it," Porthos says, blushing and scratching at the back of his neck. 

"I promise that I was not looking, my Porthos," Aramis says -- 

"No, eh? Were you maybe looking to see if Treville left anything *out*?" 

Athos hums. "Of course he was. Just as I was," he says. "Sir, I... I wish to know more. Though I can understand if it is too painful --" 

"It isn't, son -- and all of you *should* understand this about me," Treville says, and turns back to Aramis. "I've only just *begun* answering your question." 

Aramis opens his mouth -- 

Closes it -- 

"Then, please. Continue, sir." 

Treville inclines his head. "I didn't confess my feelings to my father -- but when I left his side -- and the sides of his lieutenants -- to enlist myself? I -- and all of those lieutenants -- were rather more confident than we *could* have been that I *would*, eventually make that confession." 

"This is so?" 

"Oh, yes, son. Once I started whoring more often -- as often as humanly possible, really -- it got to be easier to shout *down* the... ah... stickier passions within me. I couldn't shut them all *up* -- not by any stretch of the imagination -- but it came to be possible to spend hours in my father's company without *immediately* needing to toss myself off *several* times *loudly*."

Treville waits for the coughs and snorts to die down... 

And smiles at the *quirked* look on Aramis's face. "I was fourteen, son. And? While I was not *yet* bound to a dog-spirit, the du Peyrer line was rather *intensely* doggish. Not drowning in my own slick and spend every time my father touched me? Was *marked* improvement." 

"Ah. Hm. Go on?" 

"Mm. I thought to myself: 'I'll enlist. I'll begin the *process* of growing into my own man, and showing that I can be mature, independent, brave, sure, and all the other things that will prove to Dad than I'm still everything I should be. That I'm maybe even *more* of those things.' And --" 

"And then you would *tell* him, and move forward having gained new understanding of who you both *were*," Aramis says, and nods. "Yes, I see! What stopped you?"

Treville smiles wryly -- 

Jason *grips* Treville's spirit from a distance -- 

Athos *winces* -- 

Porthos flares his nostrils and blinks -- "Shit. Is this... you told me, in my initial interview, that your father died of an ague when you were -- really young --" 

"Sixteen, sons," Treville says, and breathes in the remembered scents of their manor outside Paris, in the *old* days... "I was *fifteen* the last time we actually spoke, face to face. A few days at our estates, when we both happened to have leave at the same time. I *did* think of telling him then... but I couldn't bear to do it when I saw -- and *smelled* -- the joy of his reunion with my mother. I thought... 'I'll join his regiment when I get leave again, and I'll tell him then.' But that ague caught him first..." Treville shakes his head and smiles ruefully. "The vast majority of me can't help but be grateful for that, boys." 

"Because you do not think your father would have understood?" And Aramis's tone has become much, much more gentle. 

"It wasn't that," Treville says, and flares his nostrils for *Dad's* scents. Just his. 

Just his. 

"It... I knew him. And I knew, in the end, exactly how much he hurt when *we* hurt. His children, his wife, and, of course, his *men*. He was a good enough *general* to not let all that pain stop him from doing everything that needed to be *done*, but... well, that's just it. If I couldn't grow up to *be* him? Then I could damned well grow up to be the man who stood between him and at least *some* of his troubles and cares," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis raises one back. "And what do you think *he* would've said to that, my Treville...?" 

Treville *stares*. 

"Oh, mon grand. Please do that *often*," Jason says, moving close again with glasses of wine for both of them. 

"Lover --" 

"I will, of course, do my best, my Jason," Aramis says, and watches Treville over the lip of his glass. 

Treville damned well drinks. 

"Yes, do that, mon amant. And remember what we discussed about all the awards and what-not the men and women who tamp down their needs and hopes and dreams and *emotions* the *very* most *don't* win --" 

"All *right*," Treville says -- and drinks more. "I would like to point out that I was a *very* idealistic boy when I came up with that dream of protecting my father --" 

"And your Dad was *absolutely* just that amazing, and gentle, and loving, and -- all of that," Porthos says. "We can see it." 

Athos nods firmly. 

Aramis nods, as well. "We understand your love for him, my Treville. But... there is more?" 

"Oh, yes, sons," Treville says. "Because, from nearly the *very* beginning of my fucking *career* --" 

Athos *coughs* -- 

The others *look* at him --

Treville carries on. "From *nearly* the beginning -- meaning from when I could get my feet under me, and not lose my *mind* once there was another hard, naked cock in the room that I was allowed and *encouraged* to touch -- things went a certain way. I *needed* them to go a certain way. 

"The young men and boys my unofficial Uncles *acquired* for me often wound up being... mentored, shall we say? By a scrawny little nothing of an Army brat with an *index* of fantasies he hadn't *realized* he had until push came quite literally to shove. I figured it out, though," Treville says, and smiles ruefully. "Eventually." 

"Uhh. Before or *after* you left your Dad's regiment, sir?" And Porthos's expression is just a little poleaxed, just a little -- 

Treville does *not* ask him if he's sure *that's* the question he wants to ask in this moment -- 

(I *really* appreciate that, sir...) 

Treville nods. "I watched my Uncles' eyebrows climb right up into their hairlines as I... mentored all those boys and young men. They knew what I was about long before I did, and they damned well knew what was *driving* me that way. They started bringing me *older* boys -- and asking me, very gingerly, if I might like a man. 

"That was..." Treville laughs ruefully. "You should picture eight burly, scarred, *hardened* soldiers -- the other three were on assignments *for* my Dad at the time -- surrounding scrawny little me, desperately trying -- and *failing* -- not to scowl *blackly* as they all *obviously* pictured The General's Beloved Son who also happened to be Their Little Terror and also, of course, Their Sacred *Charge* getting thoroughly buggered by some strange whore." 

Porthos snorts hard -- 

Athos blinks rapidly and stares at visions behind his own eyes -- 

Jason smiles at him *fondly* -- 

And Aramis *coughs* a laugh. "I imagine... ah. You refused their offer of a man." 

"For *many* reasons, son. Though -- the most important one according to my *cock*?" 

Aramis makes a point of looking down -- 

Of taking *in* Treville's hard and *slowly*-dripping cock with a hot, measuring gaze before slowly -- 

*Slowly* -- 

Looking up again. "I am very interested in this answer, my Treville. Considering." 

Treville rumbles and twines their fingers together. "Aramis. My *cock* didn't want a male of the species that my *mind* couldn't figure out how to... mentor." 

Aramis raises that eyebrow *high*. "You were *fourteen*, sir." 

"I was fourteen, and the *only* males I wanted over *me*... were my father and his lieutenants. You may have guessed that I was even more... specific about things when I was younger," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis licks his lips -- and colours, just a bit, under that paint. "I had... similar clarity of thought, shall we say, as an adolescent." 

"That surprises me not at all, son," Treville says, and checks -- 

Reaches -- 

Athos is poring over *his* adolescent fantasies for clues and cues about his own sexuality, with and without Thomas. 

Jason is cheerfully rifling through Treville's decades-old fantasies about being the regimental fucktoy. 

Porthos seems to be dreaming himself *into* Madame Margaud's as a wild-haired, hungry adolescent who absolutely has designs on the adolescent Aramis had been -- (Wouldn't be the first time, sir.) 

Right you are, son. Treville turns his attention to Aramis -- and finds him subtly and carefully *adjusting* Porthos's dreams for him. Treville hums. "Should I leave you to this, son...?" 

"I --" Aramis blushes again -- 

Porthos looks to Aramis *hungrily* -- 

And Aramis turns to face him, at last. "We will dream this dream together, my Porthos. I promise you." 

Porthos nods and licks his lips. "Let's uh. Let's get back to the other things, then," he says, and reaches out to give Athos a shake -- 

"Yes -- I. Hm. One moment," Athos says, and frowns deeply.

"All right, but --" 

"No, it -- one moment." 

Porthos wags his head and strains magically -- and then, seemingly instinctively, reaches for the steadying influence of the All-Mother before then reaching for *Jason* -- 

"Mm? Terribly sorry, Porthos, I did *not* mean to make myself difficult to *access*," Jason says, and floods them *all* with *his* fantasies... about passing the adolescent Treville around the *current* *Musketeers* regiment. 

Aramis makes a *strangled* noise --

Porthos flares his nostrils and stares *fixedly* -- 

Treville pinches the bridge of his *nose* --

"I believe -- that I am a *deviant*," Athos says, in the same tones another man would use to say the words "I believe that I have found the cure for *cancer*."

Treville looks *up* -- 

Jason *stops* the fantasy just as Treville's adolescent-self was getting the world's *least* therapeutic rubdown from Aramis -- 

Aramis gurgles -- 

And Porthos gives himself a shake before clapping Athos on the shoulder. "How's that, then, brother?" 

"Oh -- well, of course any number of people would be inclined to name me thus for my longstanding sexual and romantic relationship with Thomas," Athos says, with the air of the *most* dismissive of scholars.

Porthos nods slowly. 

Aramis licks his *lips* --

Treville says *nothing*. 

*Nothing*. 

Jason *whacks* him on the back -- 

"Fuck -- *berk* -- ah. You were saying? Son?" Treville licks his lips. 

"Yes, sir. It's only that you -- and my parents, and my *other* Uncles -- were always quite clear about the *importance* of brotherhood." 

Oh fuck. "Ah... yes?"

"All of you rather waxed rhapsodic -- and at length -- about the passions, the fire, the need and need to *serve* which could all be found within *true* brotherhood," Athos says, and *looks* at him.

So does everyone else in the room. 

Jason smiles *obnoxiously* while he does it. 

Treville considers -- deeply -- saying something about how they hadn't meant it *quite* that way... and then, after that second has passed, he remembers who he actually is. He tips the hat he isn't wearing. "That we did, son. We taught you to love and cherish and *honour* your brother --" 

"In -- in *every* way we knew how," Athos says, and nods firmly. "And so, of course, I never truly considered myself a deviant for falling in love with Thomas, or for how we have conducted our relationship." 

Everyone -- everyone -- in the room is still looking at Treville. 

Treville belts *up*. "Then... which?" 

Athos gives him a look that is nearly as wide-eyed, nearly as *innocently* confused, as one of Olivier's. It's only the fact that he's hard and covered in bruises and *spend* that's -- "Isn't it obvious, sir?" 

Treville *sweats* -- 

Jason *coughs* a laugh --

Aramis has the look of a man attempting to perform higher maths while *thoroughly* blotto -- 

And Porthos is now giving *looks* to *both* Treville and Athos. 

Well enough. "It -- no, son. No -- it's not obvious," Treville says, and continues to sweat.

Athos nods with slow thoughtfulness. 

Porthos leans in to sniff Athos's hair -- and frowns as it *obviously* doesn't provide any clues -- 

Treville knows how that *feels* -- 

"Well, of course it isn't that I desire all of you, and desire all of you -- all of *us* -- for Thomas." 

"No, I. Of course," Treville says, and nods. And stares. 

Athos narrows his eyes. "Sir. *You* -- and my parents, and my other *Uncles* --" 

"We all taught you *precisely* the right way to view relationships like this, yes, all right, but --" 

"Additionally," Athos says, barreling on, "it isn't the foolish misconception -- the foolish *error* -- I had been harboring for over a *decade* that *violent* sexuality must, by its very definition, be considered outré and even morally incorrect." 

And -- everyone is *looking* at Treville again, but -- 

"We *didn't*. Not -- well, not in *front* of the boys!" 

They turn to Athos -- 

"It's true that they did not, brothers and Jason. However, Uncle Reynard was always quite battered, bruised, scratched, and *cut* far more than would be reasonable even given both my Uncles' postings *and* their tendency toward extracurricular violence --" 

Aramis coughs -- 

"Additionally, Thomas explained to me, in detail, why Mother only exposed her arms, throat, and upper bosom at times when the men of the pack were *away*," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow. 

They look at *him* again. 

Jason looks positively *joyous*, and this -- 

"All *right*, son. *Why* do you -- what *does* make you feel like a deviant? What could it *be*?" 

And Athos's smile for that -- for all of them -- is soft, and warm, and hopeful, and full of love. "It's only... I believe there must be something *fundamentally* deviant, fundamentally beyond the *understanding* of those who live within the strictures of normality, peace, quiet..." Athos shakes his head. "I don't know what those strictures *are*. Not truly. But I know all of you know whereof I *speak*." 

They nod for that, and Porthos squeezes Athos's shoulder. "We know, yeah. Those people aren't us." 

"No, they are *not*," Athos says, and takes a breath before looking to each of them in turn. "We are *apart* from them. We are -- we are *all* deviants, *together*, because we all desire love and warmth and comfort and brotherhood and pack and sexuality and everything we can *have* with -- with *all* of us. We want *everything*, and we will not *scruple*. We will not hide, or lie, or -- or *demur*. We will not allow rules and *strictures* to hold us *back* from what we need -- or even from what we *desire*. I... yes?" And Athos looks to them again. 

"Bloody *yes*, brother --" 

"*Yes*, my Athos --" 

"*Oh*, yes, Athos," Jason says, and grins broadly -- 

And Treville hums and moves to cup his beautiful godson's cheek -- 

To stroke his soft, mussed beard and rumble his way into a nuzzle of that bruised *mouth* -- 

"Oh -- sir -- yes, please," Athos says, slurring into Treville's mouth, into Treville's *kiss* -- 

Treville makes it a hungry one, a *promising* one -- though keeps things gentle enough that they'll both be able to keep their heads for a bit longer. He nibbles Athos's lips, licks and sucks -- 

And then licks his way *out* of Athos's mouth -- 

"Mm --" 

Steps *back*. "Son. Two things." 

"Yes, sir?" 

"One, we are *absolutely* all deviants together, and I will do my *damnedest* to make sure we make the *most* of it." 

"We'll *all* help with that, brother," Porthos says. 

Treville raises an eyebrow and watches Athos take in -- and be *warmed* by -- all the noises of agreement. And then he raises two fingers and wiggles them. "Two, we were *all* deviants by *any* measure, all those years ago, and we damned well did our best to raise you boys to follow in our footsteps -- even when we didn't *necessarily* mean for you to do it in *quite* the ways you did." 

Athos raises an eyebrow of his own. "This is my point, sir." 

"Son?" 

"Should any of *us* come to have children -- or, in your case, *more* children -- I believe strongly that we will not only raise our children to follow our example, as of course we *must*, but that we can, will, and *should* raise our children to follow our example in *precisely* the ways which best suit them. *Deliberately*." 

Treville -- stares. 

Porthos wags his head judiciously -- 

Aramis's expression is an *excellent* illustration of *consternation* -- 

And Jason sighs *luxuriantly*. "It would be my *honour* to share the responsibility of rearing children with you, Athos." 

Athos bows. "The feeling is entirely mutual, Jason," he says, and turns back to Treville. "But you were saying?" 

For a moment -- a moment that *lasts* -- there is absolutely nothing in Treville's mind. 

Nothing, at *all* -- 

(Not so, amant. You're having a *rousing* fantasy about Athos and Porthos teaming up to teach a bright-eyed, bushy-tailed toddler --) 

Oh -- 

(-- *all* the best ways to go about flogging a loved one *senseless*.) 

\-- fuck. Fuck fuck fuck -- 

Aramis clears his throat. Delicately. 

Treville looks *up*. 

Jason *titters* -- 

SHUT IT. 

(*No*,) Jason says, and laughs *more* -- 

And Porthos and Athos are smiling and studying *both* of them, which says everything that *needs* to be said about all the privacy they *aren't* maintaining -- no. 

No. 

Treville *breathes* -- 

And breathes *more* -- 

And banishes the hypothetical whip-wielding toddler --

Jason *hoots* -- 

And turns to Aramis. "Where was I, son? Mm?" 

*Aramis* takes a breath. "At what point did you *realize* that you wished to be a *Daddy* to your boys, my Treville? When did the polite fiction of 'mentoring' pass?" 

Well, that's become *safe* ground, but Treville damned well still pours wine for all of them. When that's done -- "I needed time, son. I needed time, and the *loss* of my father, and the loss of the *rest* of my blood-family to a second ague -- I didn't have *any* blood-family left after that one. I was seventeen." 

Everyone is wincing for that -- and Aramis inhales sharply. "Sir..." 

Treville holds up a hand. "Everyone in this room understands loss. I was lucky enough to have Kitos -- when he was Honoré -- and Athos's father Laurent right there to help me through my. My *crushing* grief. My sense of failure. My sense of... everything I *hadn't* done to get to know all of them better. My father's lieutenants had been scattered seemingly everywhere *but* the regiment I was attached to -- and it wasn't an accident by any stretch of the imagination. 

"My father -- and his patron Henri -- were beyond the reach of the bastards who wanted to hurt them, but I and my Uncles were *not*." 

"Sir..." And Porthos's expression is just as dark and full of rage... 

"I know, son. I felt exactly the same as you do right now -- when I didn't feel worse. But I had brothers to take care of me. Including a brother, in Honoré, who, after all the deaths and betrayals, refused to let me keep pretending that I actually *wanted* to spend all our downtime -- and *pay* -- fucking the *female* whores who followed the regiment." 

And -- every last one of them -- except for Jason, who knows this tale -- is blinking for that. 

Treville hums and takes a sip of his wine. "I was fourteen when I enlisted. *Nearly* fifteen, but not quite there yet. I was small. I was second-generation *fourth*-rate nobility -- by which I mean that it was known that my father was a favourite of Henri's, but *that* carried as much resentment and suspicion as *anything* else. I was mouthy and *obnoxious* -- and knew it. It had not escaped my notice that, in the prior fourteen years of my life, I had completely failed to make friends my own *age*." He pauses, and raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis inclines his head. "You were making the political choice." 

"Precisely, son. As best as I could, as *publicly* as I could," Treville says, and shakes his head. "My 'best' was absolutely *pathetic* -- to Honoré's eyes --" 

"But *wait*," Porthos says. "You -- you and *Mum* --" 

"*Yes*, sir," Athos says. "I -- *both* Thomas and I have *watched* you with --" 

"Women, sons, with whom I was madly in love," Treville says, and raises as pointed an eyebrow as he *can*. "It was never impossible or even *joyless* for me to get it up for a woman -- I had a great deal of fun with a *lot* of those women when I was a boy, and I *absolutely* had... mm. A *different* sort of fun *watching* Honoré with those women when it was *his* turn. But, to put it bluntly --" 

"Your cock doesn't uh. Bend as *far* in that direction as it does to the other, sir?" And Porthos raises *his* eyebrows. 

Treville inclines his head -- 

Aramis nods as though he is *confirming* something in his dossier -- 

And Jason smiles at Athos, who is frowning *thunderously*. "Athos? What's the matter...?" 

"I believe you already know the answer to that *question*, Jason." 

Jason grins. "Are you perhaps... concerned about the *limits* Treville is placing on his sexuality...?" 

"*Yes*." 

Porthos *guffaws*.

"Oh -- really, brother, it's not as though I don't understand the fundamental mechanisms --" 

"You *don't*!" 

"I *do*. But even *Thomas* doesn't *limit* himself --" 

Aramis clears his throat. "My Athos. Thomas is plotting world *domination* via the judicious *application* of his lovely cock." 

"Truly, that's even *more* reason for Treville to be --" 

"Porthos," Treville says, and gestures -- 

"Right you are, sir," Porthos says, and covers Athos's mouth for him. 

Athos raises that eyebrow *high* -- 

And Treville smiles ruefully. "Your father -- both of your parents, truly -- had precisely the same objections for... I would say *many* of the same reasons." 

Athos narrows his eyes -- 

Porthos and Aramis *cough* -- 

And Jason sighs. "How I *wish* I could have known them." 

"They would've adored you, lover," Treville says, and turns back to Athos. "Your father... he *loathed* the very possibility that any one of us in the pack could -- someday, somehow -- deny ourselves true and meaningful love 'for so base and pathetic a reason as the shape of the person offering it.'" 

Athos nods sharply -- 

And Porthos laughs ruefully. "Right, well, I feel like the most shallow creature in the *spheres*, but I'm also even more in love with Athos's Dad than I already was, so carry on." 

Aramis nods judiciously -- 

And Treville wraps his free arm around Jason's waist when he moves close. "We had it out one night. The whole pack, that is. We were right here, in this house -- downstairs in the study. Marie-Angelique was eight months pregnant with you, son. Amina was *seven* months pregnant with *you* --" 

"*Oh* -- shit --" 

"And Laurent? Had damned well been lecturing me on *this* point to the point where *Amina* couldn't take it anymore -- and she and Marie-Angelique teamed up to yank Laurent's lead until he could be settled in his mind on *this* point," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Athos blinks -- 

Treville nods to Porthos, who moves his hand -- 

"I... but you said that Mother *agreed* with Father about this." 

"She did. But...?" 

Athos licks his lips. "You're saying... *Porthos's* mother did *not* agree. For some reason. And Mother was more inclined to take her side than Father's." 

Treville grins. "The two of them, together, led us *all* around by the... nose. And we all liked that just fine, son." 

The boys nod, and Treville knows -- as if he didn't already -- that he had made *perfect* sense to them. Still -- 

Athos looks to Porthos. "Do you know *why* your mother would have disagreed on this point, brother?" 

"Uhh..."

"Perhaps, my Athos... well." Aramis smiles wryly. "Many of the most beautiful, most accomplished, most brilliant, most seductive, most *powerful* *people* in this world?" 

Athos looks to Aramis. "Yes...?" 

Aramis's shrug is studied -- and involves a not-at-all casual gesture to his paint. "Many such people -- even after being given the finest, richest promises of loyalty and faith -- will find themselves somewhat concerned when confronted with the sight of their dearest love in the arms of someone fresh, and dewy, and sweet, and *young*."

Athos *blanches*. 

Porthos snorts and *whacks* him on the back. "Yeah, like that, brother. Mum not wanting Daddy running around with bouncy little girls makes *perfect* sense to me, for all that I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that she was apparently just fine with him running around with bouncy little *boys*." 

And Treville -- breathes. He doesn't -- 

He breathes. 

He *breathes*, and he doesn't say a *word*, and he *lives* in his lover's powerful *grip* on him -- 

"What -- what did I -- oh. Oh, shit, Daddy -- *sir*. *Fuck* -- I'm *sorry* --" 

"Shh, it's all right --" 

"It isn't -- I just -- I'm just -- I've been testing it out in my *head* for this last little while, trying to -- to make it *easier* to say without fucking myself up --" 

"Son, please don't *force* yourself," Treville says, and he's panting again, *needing* again -- 

"I *wasn't*. You *know* I mean it when I say it. I *know* you do --" 

"*Yes*, damn it, I." Treville growls and squeezes his eyes shut -- 

And Porthos whines softly. "'s only. I can't. I can't forget that you've dreamed it, Daddy. I can't forget that you need it --" 

"Son --" 

"Then do *not* forget, my Porthos," Aramis says, and drags his fingertips over Treville's *mouth*. "Do not forget a single *thing* about your father's need for you. Your *Daddy's* need for you --" 

"Please --" 

"Yeah. Yeah, bloody *that*," Porthos says, growling and rolling his *head* on his neck. "Because he's telling us everything about who he is, and how he's made --" 

"He is, in point of fact, putting the pieces together *for* us," Athos says. 

"*Oh*, yes," Aramis says. "He becomes a man in grief and pain -- and *brotherhood*. He learns to be *honest* again with the men who will be his lovers and brothers for all their *lives* --" 

"And he sodding well owns up to the fact that *one* of the ways he wants to be his father? Is to be the warm, loving, kind, *giving* Daddy that always made *him* feel just right --" 

"Except, of course," Athos says, "that in this scenario -- these *countless* scenarios -- 'Daddy' does not *leave*." 

"No, he does *not*," Aramis says. "He never leaves his sons cold. He never leaves his sons lonely, or confused, or *aching* for just one more *touch*." 

Treville -- stares. 

*All* of his sons look at him -- into him -- before Porthos says, "What changed, Daddy? What made you *stop* Daddying all those boys? We all know you *did* -- years ago. And we *all* know that it *wasn't* that your cock bloody slowed *down*." 

Treville swallows -- and looks to Athos.

Jason squeezes him more tightly -- and kisses his throat. (I am always, always here, lover.) 

And I'm always yours. "Every boy, every young man. Every night, every hour, every *dalliance*. They all had names. They all had *lives*. They were all *important*." 

"This does not surprise me, sir," Athos says, and frowns in mild confusion. 

Porthos and Aramis nod and look to him -- 

And Treville smiles wryly. "One day, your scents began to change, Athos. You were still Olivier... but. Your scents were changing. You had long since begun to toss yourself off, and even to spend. But -- your scents changed. *Matured*. *Became*. And I couldn't just *see* the man you would become -- I could *taste* him," Treville says, and growls. 

Athos makes a guttural sound -- "I -- sir --" 

"I went out to seduce a boy that night. I was randy, of course, but... that wasn't *why* I was looking for a boy. And, when I began overlaying images of your face and body over his own -- his name was Daniel -- I knew I had to stop, for good." 

"Oh." 

Treville bares his teeth. "The night wasn't over before I began... dreaming. *Conjuring*. 'What would *my* son look like now? Had his hair coarsened?'" 

"Oh -- *shit* -- *Daddy* --" 

"'Was he still so *pale*.'" Treville inhales and looks to all of them. "It wasn't guilt about my *sons* that stopped me --" 

"We know this, as well," Aramis says, low and calm. "We know this *well*, my Treville." 

Treville blinks.

And then Aramis looks to *Jason*. 

"Oh, yes, mon grand...? Very well: Amant, what your sons would *like* for you to know is that we have *all* already established *exactly* what sort of paternal man you are now -- and have always *been*." 

"I --" 

"More to the point," Jason says, and walks them *closer* to the boys -- 

*Their* boys -- 

Let them always be -- 

*Please* -- 

(Yes, *always*, mon amant...) "More to the *point*? One of the *very* last thing your --" 

"*Our*." 

"-- sons want from you is for you to throw yourself upon a couch, tearing at your clothes and beating at your manly chest with guilt for your many, many terrible crimes." 

"... I." 

"We have, in fact, established *that*, as well," Jason says. 

Their boys nod judiciously. 

Treville licks his lips -- and nods. "We've decided, collectively, to be deviants." 

"It did seem *best*," Jason says, and his gaze is warm and wondering... 

Treville growls and pulls him in for a kiss -- 

Another -- 

Another and another and -- 

Well, now he's walking Jason out of the sitting room and into the *very* big bedroom which has a *very* big bed -- 

He is *absolutely* gesturing their children to take up formation behind them and follow -- 

They will hopefully *not* take the command literally and liberate weapons from the walls *first* -- 

Athos hums. "You don't believe that's rather limited, sir?"

Porthos snickers -- 

Aramis laughs *brightly* -- 

And Treville, as Captain, *may* have to yank Athos's lead for this at *some* point -- before he gets them all hanged -- but... 

That day is not today.


	10. Yes, Porthos, it is an incredible hardship to roll around nakedly with you.

"Are you *quite* sure about that, amant?" And Jason is grinning so broadly, so happily -- 

And more than that as Treville tosses him *right* onto the bed -- "Yes, and you are, too, lover --" 

"Hm, I --"

"*Because*," Treville says, and crawls on top of the most dangerous man on the planet, licking a meandering path up his belly and chest starting just *above* his pubic hair -- 

"Yes...?" And Jason is growling softly for the tease -- 

"Do *tell*, Daddy --"

"Oh, yes, we are all very interested in this thing," Aramis says, and then he and Porthos lift Athos, swing him twice, and *then* toss him onto the bed beside Jason before crawling on as well. 

"Please do this all the time," Athos says, arching and laughing breathlessly -- 

"Because of *that*, sons and lover," Treville says, and nips his way along Jason's collarbone for a moment -- 

"Be more *specific*, amant," Jason says, and grips Treville by the *hair* --

Treville laughs *precisely* like an arsehole and *bites* -- 

"Right, well, not to interrupt, but --" And Porthos smacks him upside the head -- 

Treville splutters *on* Jason -- 

"You *arse* --" 

And Treville kneels up in a straddle of his lover and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "Am I not allowed to have *fun* anymore?" 

And Jason and their boys share a look -- 

A *long* look -- 

A *frowning* -- 

Porthos smacks Treville again. "You're allowed, Daddy, but you're pretty much always going to be abused for it." 

Treville nods judiciously. "I'll take it, I'll --" 

"Finish answering the question about our Athos, my Treville...?" And Aramis is lying on his side beside Athos, tugging at the thick hair beside Athos's cock, curling it around his fingers -- 

Athos's cock is fully-hard again, thick and reddened and drooling for -- all of them -- 

Athos himself is panting and glassy-eyed -- 

"We've lost 'im, brother," Porthos says. "We might not get anything coherent out of him until someone makes him spend --" 

"I am not certain Treville deserves to spend," Aramis says -- 

"Oh, he truly -- truly does -- fuck, please, Aramis, please touch me more *firmly* --" 

Treville does his best to look *precisely* as hopelessly transfixed as any sane person would be -- 

Jason sits up and smacks him. 

Treville snickers. "All *right* --" 

"Wait, he *wasn't* all helpless to Athos's alluring extremis?" Porthos is scowling -- 

"This, I have tried to tell you, my Porthos --" 

"He is, as I have tried to tell *all* of you, an *arse*," Jason says. 

"He's still exceedingly -- exceedingly worth -- oh. Oh, everything --" 

Treville looks down -- yes, Aramis is absolutely torturing Athos's bollocks. "Harder than that, son --" 

"*Communicate*!" 

"Mm." Treville scratches his furry-sticky belly. "One, I categorically refuse to yank Athos's lead until at *least* ten minutes after it's absolutely necessary, because if and when I *do*?" 

"*Yes*, my Treville?" And Aramis gives him the sort of acid look that really could etch steel if he put his mind to it -- 

"He might -- *might* -- think I'm doing something like asking him -- *ordering* him -- to take himself away from me again. Away from *all* of us," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Everyone winces for that -- 

"I -- *we* -- will not let him do this thing," Aramis says, and *grips* Athos's bollocks. "What else?" 

"This is my bedroom suite. There are, as I've said, bedroom suites for all three of you *and* Thomas in this house, as well as in my manor. They are *decorated*. They include various items of furniture and objets d'art which I've thought, over the years, you might *like*. I would like *all* of you to start thinking very deeply about the time you could spend in those suites. *Living* in those suites." Treville raises an eyebrow. 

"Uhh..." 

Treville turns to his Porthos. "Son. There is *also* a suite for the son I *lost* a generation ago. It's right next door --" 

"Oh fuck --" 

"-- and, among other things, has everything I've managed to keep from your mother, as well as various gifts from your godparents, Uncles, and the guardians Amina had while she was a teenager --" 

"*Shit* --" 

"Not *all* the gifts, mind. Just the ones appropriate for a grown man. You will, of course, have your *choice* about which suite to take." 

Porthos goggles at him -- but Treville can *feel* him turning everything over and over in his mind. It's a great deal of what he needs right now. 

He turns to Aramis. 

"Yes, my Treville?" 

"Only this, son: I will play, and joke, and tease, and act the idiot -- but I will never lie to any of you, and I will never *hide* from any of you, and I will always do *everything* in my *considerable* power to make certain that all of you know everything you need to know about me -- whether you *wish* to know it or not." 

Aramis flares his nostrils very slightly. "This is a very rich promise from a man who can and *will* hide his *scents* from his *son*." 

"*We* have all made choices tonight that demanded I pull down *every* wall, son. I will not put them up again," he says, and leaves himself open for Aramis's study. 

Aramis gives him a very long look indeed -- and then frowns. 

"No, Aramis?" 

"I... have never been entirely confident in my ability to read you *fully*, my Treville." 

Treville hums. "I'll take that as the rather *inconvenient* compliment it is, son. But..." 

"'But'?" 

Treville touches Aramis's spirit with his own. Gently -- 

Aramis grunts and *grips* Treville's spirit, hauling it close and positively *sifting* it. 

"You rather *asked* for that, amant." 

"I truly did. But I think we should all be impressed that Aramis is managing this while still torturing Athos's bollocks." 

Porthos *stops* goggling and looks to Athos's -- blissful -- expression -- "I'm *absolutely* making us gallop *everywhere* we have to ride tomorrow." 

"You're assuming mon amant is letting you *leave* this house tomorrow?" 

Porthos blinks -- 

Athos moans and *sweats* -- 

And Aramis *gasps*, releasing Treville's spirit and shivering all over -- "I I -- *oh* --" 

"Yes, son?" 

"Let me do that all the time!" 

Treville inclines his head. 

"Oi, *what* did you let him do?" And Porthos lifts his nose in Aramis's direction -- 

"My Porthos, he gave me *absolute* access to everything he *is*! I could all but *taste* his love for his father! His love for his first pack! His love for all of *us*," Aramis says, and gestures to the bed. "He is -- he is *honest*, and *faithful* --" 

"Well, we *knew* that, love --" 

"I did not trust!" 

"Oh. Hunh. No, right, that *is* like you," Porthos says. "But -- d'you trust *me*?" 

"I have been following you when you are not aware of it!" 

"Um." 

"I have interrogated each and every person who I have seen you *laugh* with!" 

"*Really*?" 

"I have spent the past hour *tearing* through your thoughts and dreams of me looking for -- for anything *wrong* --" 

"I'll *fix* --" 

"You will change *nothing*." 

"Right you are. Um." 

"Yes. Yes?" 

"Do you trust Athos, yet? And what about our Jason?" 

Jason laughs richly, lazily -- "I made *absolutely* certain that Aramis had access to *everything* which made me who I am when I took his blood." 

"Our Jason is wise, and has learned much," Aramis says with a magnificently obvious threat aimed at *all* of their bollocks should they *not* learn similar things at speed. 

Treville nods approvingly. 

Jason licks his teeth -- 

"I would like to state for the record," Athos says, "that if Aramis does *not* trust me, yet, then he is welcome to take out his numerous and myriad frustrations in trade." 

They're all laughing for that -- 

All *warm* -- 

"My *Athos*," Aramis says, leaning in to kiss him all over his face everywhere *save* his mouth -- 

"Please. *Please* --" 

"My Athos... you must not think that I am not capable of doing more than one thing at a *time*," Aramis says, and starts to *pump* those bollocks. 

"Yes. Yes. What?" 

Porthos laughs and tugs on a lock of Athos's hair. "I *think* he means that he was digging for all *possible* dirt on *you*... while he was doing the same with *me*." 

"I -- I -- *oh* --" 

"You are a *much*, *much* more difficult man to stalk, my Athos," Aramis says, and, "Do you want to suck my cock?" 

"*Fuck*." 

"He's still enunciating, Daddy," Porthos says. "What does he get for that, eh?" 

"I daresay he gets something else to do with that gorgeous mouth, son. Get up there and *ride*, Aramis." 

"*Yes*, sir," Aramis says, and *moves*. 

Treville licks his lips and turns to Jason, who has settled back on his elbows -- and removed the shadow-tie from his gorgeous hair, letting it spill out all over the pillows...

"Oh, yes, amant...?"

Treville traces an infinity around and around Jason's nipples -- 

Jason shivers up at him and nods -- 

And Treville nods back. "Jason's immortal, sons." 

"You'd mentioned," Porthos says, laughing bright, big -- 

He's watching Athos focus *hungrily* on Aramis's slim, perfect cock -- 

He's not thinking *quite* enough -- none of them are -- and that means Treville *truly* is an arsehole to say *this* now: "Jason can share his immortality, sons." 

"What?" 

"He --" 

"What is this that you are --" 

Treville smiles wryly into Jason's *rueful* gaze. "He couldn't do that until *I*... well, I sacrificed myself *for* Jason in a place of power... it truly is a long story, and I've told you all some of it but not enough. The end result is that Jason -- without meaning to -- *immediately* shared his immortality with me as soon as he drank my blood..." 

"Oh." 

"Fuck," Athos says, enunciating *again* -- 

"He. He did this to *us*," Aramis says, eyes wild and wildly *calculating* -- 

And Treville is *precisely* the bastard he is, because -- "You'll never lose each other, sons. Not the way I lost my brothers. My *loves*." 

Athos groans like a dying man. "Thomas... *Thomas*." 

"Never, son. Not ever," Treville says, and traces the lines of Jason's beautiful face. "You'll never howl alone in the dark." 

Jason shudders and sucks in a harsh breath -- 

"*Jason* did not *want* to do this," Aramis says. "Jason -- he *hesitated* --" 

"That's -- that's *right*," Porthos says. "He hesitated with me --" 

"And with me and -- did you not *wish* to give this to us, Jason? Did you only do this to please Treville?" 

Jason laughs quietly and it slowly becomes deeper, louder and lower and *hungrier*. 

"I -- Jason...?" And Athos is studying Jason as closely as he can -- 

Jason reaches out and takes Athos's hand over Porthos's hip. "Athos. My only hesitation with taking your blood -- blood from all of you -- was that you would feel my corruption and *recoil*. That I would see and feel and taste and smell and *hear* you do it -- and then experience all of you choosing to trust your *instincts* about me and... walk away. 

"Even if it meant walking away from your father." 

"But..." 

Jason smiles again and squeezes Athos's hand. "I would have done it some other way, if I could have. If I did not *have* to share corruption in order to share immortality, you all would have been immortal *long* before now." 

Porthos raises an eyebrow. "Before you asked us?" 

"Oh, Porthos... almost certainly before we *met*." 

"When would you have *told* us?" And Aramis's eyes are wild again.

Jason shares another look with *him*. 

"Perhaps," Treville says, and smiles helplessly. "*Perhaps* whenever I'd managed to convince him to finally come home." 

It's silent for long moments, but...

It's not the *worst* sort of silence. It's thoughtful, and hungry. 

He can feel Aramis *and* Porthos reaching deep within *both* him and Jason -- 

And he can feel Athos *reflexively* folding in on himself to think privately -- 

Porthos *immediately* yanks Athos out of himself and all but *tosses* his spirit at Treville's -- 

Treville coughs. "Thank you for that, son." 

"Anytime, Daddy. I uh." 

"Mm?" 

"We're all going to need you to do a lot fucking better with the *concept* of *consent*." 

"Actually, I would prefer --" 

"Athos, shut it, 's not your turn." 

"But --" 

"My Athos, my brother, please assume it is *never* your turn for conversations about consent." 

"Hm." 

"Yes?" And Aramis pets Athos's hair -- 

"Thomas said much the same thing... in a rather different direction," Athos says, and raises an eyebrow very high indeed. 

They all take long moments to fight back those images, save for Jason, who collects and collates them for later perusal. 

"It's only practical, amant." 

"Right you are," Treville says, and turns back to their sons. "We will absolutely overrule your desires and everything else --" 

"*Oi* --" 

"-- *every* time your lives are on the line. However..." Treville says, and raises an eyebrow.

"You uh. You've kind of *drastically* limited the number of occasions where that *can* be true. Haven't you." 

Treville *and* Jason incline their heads. Jason's doing a terrible job of hiding a sharp smile. *Treville*... is attempting to be slightly less obnoxious -- 

"Just assume you're always failing at that, Daddy," Porthos says, and he and Athos look to Aramis. The frown on Aramis's lovely, lovely face speaks *volumes* about how much effort he's putting into finding fault with the reasoning on display. 

Should they have gotten him more drunk? Or -- 

"As an aside, mon grand...?" 

Aramis raises an eyebrow at Jason.

"Mon amant and I have spent a great *deal* of time... conversing about your mother, and how very much time we wish to spend with *her*." 

Aramis's jaw *drops* -- "My -- my good mother..." 

"Oh, hey," Porthos says -- "Eternity is just *about* enough time for Claudette to teach Athos how to have a conversation with Thomas without bruising him somewhere." 

"Very true, Porthos," Jason says, "But we would rather prefer Thomas *not* trying to murder her."

Treville snickers *with* Porthos -- 

Aramis *coughs* --

And Athos frowns at what seem to be hopelessly abstruse alchemical equations behind his eyes. 

"*Yes*, son?" 

"It's only... surely it would be *better* if I could converse like an adult --" 

"Aramis, get that cock in his mouth." 

"I --" 

"Are you *sure* you don't have any other terrifying things to say to us?" And Porthos *looks* at him. 

And *Aramis* looks at him -- 

And Athos... opens his mouth. Expectantly. 

Treville sighs. "I am *entirely* out of terrifying things --" 

"He is *absolutely* lying about that," Jason drawls -- 

Treville snorts -- 

"Aww, what *now*?" And Porthos is looking back and forth between him and Jason -- 

Aramis's gaze could very well set Treville's chest-fur aflame -- 

"I must confess that I am not *certain* which terrifying thing or other mon amant still hasn't spoken about tonight," Jason says, and smiles at him warmly. 

"Then --" 

"I only know that I have come to know the beat of my own heart... and how much of an *arsehole* it is." 

"I love you, *too*, lover --" 

Porthos turns to Aramis. "Your Mum will beat him into shape," he says, nodding judiciously and leaning back against the headboard. 

"This is *so*, my Porthos," Aramis says, cupping his cock and rubbing the head back and forth along Athos's lower lip -- 

"I -- I -- *oh* --" 

"Is it good, brother? Have you dreamed of it?" And Porthos sounds eager, hungry -- 

"I -- his *smile* --" 

Aramis *grins*, wild and bright and sweet -- 

Athos *bucks* beneath him -- 

"Oh, *yeah*, brother -- but should he act like a *whore*." 

Athos makes a *broken* sound -- 

Jason grins *delightedly* -- 

And Aramis *looks* at Porthos. 

"No, no, it was that whole conversation earlier. Apparently Thomas had his big, tough soldier-uncles take him whoring all the bloody time --" 

"With..." Aramis dips his chin. 

"Yeah, I know. But, no, with women --" 

"Ah! He was gathering *knowledge* --" 

"To *use* on his big brother. With malice aforethought, like. So anyway, me and Daddy got Athos thinking about *you* and *me* acting like whores with him --"

"Oh. Hm," Aramis says, and obviously considers the question -- 

He never *stops* stroking the dripping head of his cock over and *over* that lower lip -- 

Athos has started to *shake* -- 

"It is only..." 

"Yeah, brother?" 

Aramis's gesture with his free hand is broad and speaking -- 

Jason is back to looking besotted --

"There are many, *many* sorts of whore, my Porthos." 

"*Very* true, but he seemed to lose his mind the *most* when we floated the possibility past him of you acting like the kind of whore *I* like the best," Porthos says, and raises an eyebrow --

Athos whimpers -- 

Aramis smiles *slowly* -- 

*Sharply* -- 

"Is this what my good brother wishes...?"

Athos pants twice -- "You! Always *you*!" 

Aramis licks his teeth through an even sharper smile -- 

"I -- *fuck* --" 

"My brother," Aramis says, releasing his cock to let it bob freely and gripping Athos by the chin instead -- 

"Yes -- *yes* --" 

"I will never lie to you again..." 

"*Please* --" 

"I will always give you *exactly* who I am," Aramis says, and *smacks* Athos with his free hand -- 

Athos nearly bucks Aramis *off*, cock jerking *violently* as he leaks and leaks and -- 

"I? Will always give you *everything* I am," Aramis says, shoving his cock *deep* -- 

Athos gulps and swallows and swallows, taking it all and flushing, sweating -- 

Gripping at the sheets -- 

*Yanking* at the sheets -- and then reaching up to cross his arms over his head. 

"Right, well, I hope you're never going to need me to think critically again, Daddy, because that's done forever," Porthos says, and traces a line up one of Athos's straining forearms. 

"Nonsense, son. Regular, vigorous exercise will stand a man in good stead for whatever the world might throw at him." 

Porthos *looks* at him. 

Jason snorts because he knows exactly what's coming -- 

Treville winks and tips the hat he's not wearing. "I'm quoting Athos's father, who was wont to say that sort of thing whenever we complained too much about him fucking us all mindless and limp." 

Porthos *stares* at him -- 

Aramis coughs and loses his *rhythm* -- 

Athos makes a desperately *needy* animal noise, bucking and *writhing* beneath Aramis -- 

"I -- I -- be *still*, my Athos," Aramis says, pinning Athos more cruelly and *yanking* his hair -- 

Athos does his best to *suck* that cock -- 

"Fuck -- fuck -- yes, like *so*," Aramis says, and starts fucking Athos faster but *not* harder -- 

"You uh..." Porthos turns to Jason. "You did warn us he wasn't out of terrifying shite." 

"So I did. Ah..." 

"Mm?" 

Jason licks his lips. "It occurs to me that you are rather far away from anyone who might touch your *cock* in this moment, Porthos..."

Porthos blushes *deeply* -- 

Treville *breathes* deep -- but doesn't smell anything *like* worry or intimidation or uncertainty on his Porthos, as opposed to -- 

"I'm uh. Well. I kind of really want to... roll. Around. First." 

\-- that.

Jason grins. "I imagine this whole room smells... well. Why don't you tell *us*?" 

"This room smells *fantastic*, and I absolutely have no interest in sleeping in some very nicely decorated but cold and sterile suite that Daddy has never ejaculated all over, whether or not he's done it in company." 

Treville sighs -- 

Jason coos -- 

Aramis and Athos continue doing their level best to merge into one being *violently* -- those thrusts are getting increasingly brutal -- 

Athos is pumping his cock at *nothing* -- 

But, in the end, Treville has to, *has* to turn back to his Porthos -- "You couldn't be -- *wouldn't* be -- more my son if we *were* related by blood." 

Porthos stares at him wonderingly, reaching instinctively for Treville's spirit, for the *truth* of him, even as the flush takes him -- oh, everywhere. 

Treville licks his lips and beckons. "Come on. Come to me. Come to *us*." 

"Oh -- I --" 

"Please." 

"Fuck, Daddy, you never have to *beg*," Porthos says, crawling across the bed to get close to him and Jason, who has sat up once more -- 

And Jason knows exactly what to do, joining Treville in wrapping his arms not *too* tightly around Porthos and pulling him close, pulling him down on top of them -- 

"Oh -- *oh* --" 

"That's right, son. Give in to it..." 

"I -- I can't --" 

"You *can* -- and should," Jason says, and strokes Porthos's round little ear *precisely* the way Treville used to stroke Amina's -- 

"Oh fuck -- that feels --" And Porthos doesn't thrust against them, and he doesn't *roll* on them, and he doesn't *writhe* -- but it's a little of all of those things, and it becomes *more* of *all* of those things with every stroke -- 

Every squeeze -- 

Treville rumbles -- 

Porthos croons hungrily and *grinds* -- 

"Oh, son..." 

"You feel *perfect*, Porthos --" 

"I can't -- I'm *better* --" 

"There's nothing better. There's nothing better than feeling my *son*," Treville says, and claws down Porthos's side to make him shiver and roll just a little bit *more* -- 

"*Please*!" 

"You know this lesson, Porthos," Jason says, quiet and inexorable. "You know exactly how much I've needed thorough, hungry, needy, full-*bodied* touch --" 

"Yes -- fuck -- fuck, *Jason* --"

"And you know how many years *I've* gone without you, Porthos," Treville says. "How many years I've fought and cried and howled and *hunted* without you in my arms. Without your scent in my *nose* --" 

"Daddy!" 

"Here," Jason says, and grips Porthos's arse with one hand -- 

"Unh --" 

And Treville cups the back of Porthos's neck and squeezes *hard* -- 

Porthos sobs and *howls* -- 

"Oh -- Oh, my *Porthos*," Aramis says, and -- "I -- I cannot *stop* --" 

"*Don't* stop, mon grand. You and Athos are making *perfect* scents for your brother --" 

Porthos *chokes* on his howl -- 

Drops his head to Treville's shoulder -- "Yes -- yes, please please *please* --" 

"See?" And Jason laughs softly, breathlessly --

"*Yes*," Aramis says, nearly *hisses*, and the wet *slam* of his thrusts gets faster, wilder -- 

Athos is groaning in his chest -- 

Beating at the *bed* -- 

And Porthos is writhing in *place* now, thrusting and *moving* right there, right *there* -- 

"Oh, son... is it better when we hold you?" 

Porthos croons and nods, drags his face over Treville's throat and shoulder before shifting over enough to do the same to Jason -- 

"Oh, *perfect*, Porthos," Jason says -- and gives Treville a look -- 

"Absolutely, lover," Treville says, and he and Jason move together, turning on their sides and using every bit of preternatural *force* they have to crush Porthos between them, to *help* him cover himself with their scents, to help him breathe nothing but musk, sweat, pleasure, *pack* -- 

And Porthos is shaking now, wordless, crooning and panting and unable to so much as *thrust* coherently. He's writhing and bucking as much as they let him, licking at Jason's throat and cheek frantically, gripping at Treville's hip *convulsively* -- 

And then Aramis's shout *becomes* a wail -- 

Another -- 

Another as Aramis *spends* -- 

Athos is gulping and coughing and gulping *more* -- 

"Take -- you must *take*, my brother --" 

Athos groans desperately -- and the scents of *his* spend rise and rise and -- 

Porthos is shaking between them, moving with even more *needy* hunger -- 

"We won't let you *go*, son --" 

"You will *never* be alone," Jason says, raking his human claws over Porthos's arse even as Treville bites down *hard* on the back of that neck -- 

Porthos *howls* into Jason's throat and spends, spurting musky-wild-fresh all over Jason, and -- 

And Treville has to, *has* to shove his hand between, has to feel, stroke, *squeeze* -- 

Make his son howl *again*, fuck into his own mess -- 

"I will *never* grow tired of being *thoroughly* marked by earth-mages," Jason says and bites Porthos's ear -- 

Tugs *lightly* on the ring -- 

"I'd say that's *fairly* convenient, lover," Treville says, and sets to the process of milking Porthos dry -- 

"Oh, do let me help with that," Jason says, and Treville can feel that powerful hand slipping past his to go for those big, heavy bollocks -- hm. 

"Are they furry yet?" 

"Not quite, but *getting* there." 

Porthos's groan this time is faintly questioning, but he's still in the process of spurting, so it might be a while before he can actually take in information -- 

Athos clears his throat. 

"Yes, son?" 

"I... hm." 

"Mm?" 

"Did that, perhaps, *feel* somewhat different than it usually does?" Jason asks with *cheerful* evil. 

"I believe I will... encourage Thomas to fuck my throat much more violently in the future." 

"Very good, my brother," Aramis says, "but... ah..." 

Treville grins and works one -- 

Last -- 

Spill out of his beautiful son. Porthos slumps with a whimper. Treville kisses the back of his neck. "You were saying, sons?"

Athos clears his throat again. "Porthos's genitals will... change," he says, with the air of a man firming a point. 'They -- they will become more like *yours*." 

"That they will." 

"I." 

"Yes, Aramis?" 

"I will get used to this!" 

"Of *course* you will," Jason says -- 

"Yes. I -- I would never --" 

"Make your beloved brother worry that you find him... unpalatable?" 

"I! I will always wish to swallow his cock! I will always wish to *ride* his cock! My Porthos will always have the most beautiful of cocks!" 

"Even when it looks like mine, son...?" 

"There is nothing wrong with your cock! I wish to study your cock at length while teasing you until you must spurt your wild, hot spend all *over* me --" 

"Wait. Uh." Porthos wriggles and moves a little more coherently -- 

Treville and Jason give him room to *do* that -- 

They all kneel up a little -- and Porthos licks his lips and turns to Aramis. "Brother, it's *all right* if you don't like my doggy prick --" 

"It is not!" 

"It --" 

"It is *not*." 

"But --" 

"My Porthos. I do not wish to stab you." 

"But you're about to, right, got it. You *definitely* have to like my doggy prick, whenever it grows in or... whatever, and you definitely have to do that thing to it that you were talking about doing to Daddy's doggy prick." 

"Oh. With... the studying?" 

Porthos pants once, tongue peeking. "Really... really make me think you're going to write a *treatise* on it, eh?" 

"This is a desire for you!" 

"It *truly* is --" 

Athos laughs softly and sits up on one elbow. "I must confess that I have had *many*... shall we say *heated*? dreams of Aramis slowly dissecting me and discussing my every shortcoming." 

A silence falls. 

Aramis looks no more stricken than Treville *feels* -- 

Porthos looks to be trying to *rewind* *time* -- 

Jason clears his throat *delicately*. 

"Ah. Hm. Yes, Jason?" 

"I have learned over the years, *much* to my chagrin, than even many of the *most* open-minded lovers rather shy at the prospect of even the most *loving* vivisection, Athos." 

Athos nods thoughtfully. "Yes, I suppose that does make sense."


	11. Start as you mean to go on.

Treville licks his *lips* -- 

Porthos rolls his head on his neck. "D'you think this is the kind of thing he talks about with *Thomas*?" 

Athos opens his mouth -- 

Aramis covers it with malice aforethought. "I think, my Porthos, that we will soon discover this for ourselves." And he raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos nods thoughtfully. "Nakedly, even." 

Athos's expression above Aramis's hand turns hazy and lustful, which... 

Treville hums. "I believe -- strongly -- that Athos has put some time into considering those possibilities this last little while," he says, and drags two fingers up and up Athos's strong, hairy thigh. 

"*What* last little -- you mean *tonight*?" Porthos turns to *look* at Athos -- 

Athos flushes *beautifully* -- above *and* below Aramis's hand -- 

"You all must tell me what you were *talking* about!" And Aramis is now *gripping* Athos's face -- 

"Well, love, it's like this --" 

"I..." And Jason licks his lips and smiles with a *wonderful* degree of evil. 

Treville grins. "Yes, lover?" 

"Well. I simply *cannot* help but wonder -- and imagine, and *dream* about -- how our dear *Thomas* will respond to having been left out of this conversation..." 

Another silence falls -- 

Like a paving stone dropped from a *roof* -- 

Like -- 

Well, Athos has gone *white*, save for his once-again rock-hard cock, which seems to be jerking in just as much *alarm* as excitement -- 

They all stare at it for a bit. 

Aramis licks his lips -- 

Jason sighs dreamily -- 

Porthos nods judiciously and looks up. "Athos always said it, you know." 

"Said what, son?" 

Porthos nods toward Athos. "That Thomas had trained him in things like this over the years. Trained him *brutally*, like." 

Aramis raises an eyebrow. "Trained our Athos to keep him... informed?"

"To keep him *period*, love. I'm pretty sure Athos isn't allowed to have more than four or five entirely private thoughts per *day*."

Aramis blinks -- 

Licks his *lips* again, and -- 

Treville checks -- yes, that cock is rapidly becoming ready for more. "I believe someone likes that idea, lover." 

"Everyone knows that private thoughts are the devil's workshop, amant," Jason says *primly*. 

Treville snorts -- 

Porthos smacks Jason -- 

Jason *hoots* --

Aramis does his best to send his spirit diving through all their minds at *once* -- 

And Athos -- 

Athos is, when Treville checks, having an *extremely* heated fantasy about Thomas restraining Athos with the roughest *possible* rope, then forcing him to watch Thomas get railed by -- hm. 

"Son, was that *Hirondelle* fucking Thomas's mouth while Thomas takes Aramis's *fist*?" 

Aramis coughs but doesn't actually *stop* rifling through their minds -- 

Porthos tugs Aramis away from Athos and starts petting him -- 

And Athos blinks dreamily and licks his lips. "Thomas... was rather complimentary about Hirondelle's pomade the last time he visited the garrison..."

Jason blinks -- 

Treville raises an *eyebrow* -- 

And Athos ducks his head to hide a smile *badly*. "It would be... *fair* to say that Thomas has been the ultimate measure, for me, of sexual... everything. Everything." 

And there is a great *deal* there that Treville doesn't want to --

Well, at the very least, he'd like to touch it *gingerly* -- 

Jason hoots more. "You would *not*," he says, and then they're *all* looking at a fantasy Treville and Athos had -- apparently -- *shared* -- 

At some point -- 

Mostly -- 

Of Treville using some of the *ever*- so-convenient wall restraints in the de la Fère master suite to lash Athos *up* -- 

Of Treville taking Thomas's *heartfelt* suggestions on where to flog, and where to flog and then *caress* -- 

Of Treville taking Thomas in hand when the boy -- the *boy*, and *not* the man -- became too in need of *discipline*. 

Of Treville moving a chair into easy view of where Athos was still lashed to the wall, sitting down, and laying a nude and lean, pink and cream and *bruised* and *bitten* Thomas over his lap while both boys moaned -- 

Begged -- 

*Ached* -- and, like this, with the fantasy shared and *exposed* between them, *among* *all* of them -- 

Treville can't help but feel the ache, feel exactly how much Athos had *lived* for the *specific* torture of this fantasy -- this fantasy where *he* isn't allowed to touch or taste or *strike* his beloved little brother... but *Treville* is. 

Treville is, and will, and will *continue* to do it until Thomas spends from it, weeping and just a *little* chastened -- and then for just a little bit longer. It -- 

Jason tugs them all out and into the *present* -- 

Treville *breathes* -- 

Athos groans and gives Treville a *pleading* look that Treville doesn't know how to answer -- no. No. 

He does know -- and he'll never deny that again. He reaches to cup Athos's face, to stroke those bitten lips -- "The *moment* you -- and Thomas -- desire it, son," he says, and raises his eyebrows. 

"I -- I -- truly?" 

Treville inclines his head -- 

Aramis makes a softly acquisitive sound -- and shifts in his lounge against Porthos. 

"Beautiful, son. What can I do for you?" 

Aramis shows his teeth. "I -- *we* -- could not help but sense a certain degree of *hesitation*, my Treville. Of *reluctance* --" 

"Not that. Or --" Treville shakes his head once. "*Not* the way you're thinking." 

"No? Then how." 

Treville looks to Jason *wryly* -- 

"For one thing, mon grand... I would never, ever encourage mon amant to make love with someone -- or in some way -- that he did not wish to." 

"And you *really* were encouraging just then," Porthos says, and nods judiciously. "Still, we could all kind of *hear* Daddy's eyes popping open like giant saucers." 

Treville coughs. "I... have done my *best* to *avoid* fantasizing about my godsons," he says, and raises his eyebrows. "It's gotten to be reflexive to take those thoughts and images and throw them out the window when they come." 

Aramis nods and reaches to cup Athos's shoulder. "*This* is what I am --" 

Treville raises a hand. "Have you never had a thought return to you, son?"

"I..."

"Have you never had a thought -- a dream, an urge, a *fantasy* -- return to you time and again and *again* no matter how many times you tried to tear it from your *mind*?" 

Aramis opens his mouth -- and closes it. And then looks to Athos -- 

Who is frowning thoughtfully. "You did not seem so... beset." 

"Mm." Treville tips the hat he isn't wearing to all of them. "Please remember, sons -- I spent the *entirety* of my adolescence pretending to *everyone* who mattered to me that I wasn't *constantly* rock-hard and ready to bend for them, and *also* for my *father*." 

Jason snorts -- 

His boys cough and blink -- 

"But *wait* --" 

"*Yes*," Aramis says, leaning forward to gesture passionately. "*You* said that your Uncles knew the truth of you, that you did not *have* to pretend!"

Treville raises an eyebrow -- and turns to Porthos. "How do you feel about that statement, son?" 

"Uh... what?" 

Treville nods to Aramis and Athos. "I imagine they've known how you felt about them --" 

"Oh -- shit -- I *told* them I wanted them from the beginning --" 

"Of course you did. You're *my* boy." 

Porthos blushes -- "I -- uh. I couldn't -- I couldn't keep... throwing myself at them." 

"My Porthos --" 

"*Brother* --"

"You couldn't let them *see* how much you needed them every *moment*. Could you, son." 

Porthos swallows. "No, Daddy. I -- you just don't. You just don't." 

Aramis all but slams Porthos against the *wall*. "You do with *me*!" 

"I would like to also --" 

"*Brothers*," Porthos says, and his voice is low and growling and hard. 

"*What* --" 

"Shh. We're being honest, eh? About everything, all the time, from now *on*. Right?" 

"*Yes*, my Porthos --" 

"Please, brother, I -- please." 

Porthos nods and pushes Aramis back by the shoulders until they can meet each other's gaze. "Then let's all be honest about the fact that there were a *couple* things *keeping* us from being honest with each other." 

"*Foolishness* --" 

"Like the fact that *I* was straight out of the Court of Miracles, and everyone I'd ever known who *wasn't*? Treated people like me like the shite on their *boots*." 

Aramis snarls -- 

"Like the fact that *you*, Athos, were and *are* in love with your *little brother*, and didn't even want to have a *conversation* with *anyone* who wasn't *also* at least a little bit in love with Thomas." 

"I... hm. Perhaps more than a -- little. Hm." 

"Like the fact that *you*, Aramis, didn't trust *anyone* to look at anyone who was a Rom whore with a Rom whore *mother* like a man. Like a *brother*." 

Aramis *flinches* -- and doesn't *quite* look at Treville or Jason. 

Or any of them. 

"Oh -- *shit* -- *Aramis*, I'm --" 

"Perhaps," Jason says quietly, "we can all take a moment to think very, very deeply about the bindings on our souls... and what they might move us to do and say and *share*." He raises an eyebrow. 

Aramis shows his teeth. "No secrets." 

"None, son," Treville says, and moves enough that he can cup Aramis's shoulder *with* Porthos. "None among the *pack*." 

"I --" 

"My Aramis," Athos says, and presses his palm flat to Aramis's back. "I... do you remember what I told you my father said about matters of prejudice and baseless hatreds?" 

Aramis stiffens, but doesn't turn around. "You... never blinked. When you came to know the truth of me and my good mother." 

Treville squeezes Aramis's shoulder. "Laurent took over the job of *raising* me and Kitos -- when he was Honoré -- once upon a time, son. He'd already firmed those lessons about bigotry *right* up -- and made sure those of us who *would* rise in the ranks understood them from top to bottom." 

"Even. Among the gentry."

"All of us, son. In some ways... especially those of us among the gentry." 

And Aramis turns enough -- just enough -- that they can all see his frown. His *calculating* frown. 

"If it helps with *me*, son... you don't get to be shifter-mage with *Yoruba* teachers without learning how to categorize people based on the scents of their intentions and the *spoor* of their *acts*, as opposed to any other sort of horseshit," Treville says, and raises both eyebrows. 

Aramis blinks and takes a *breath* -- and then turns enough to nod to him before turning to Jason with an eyebrow of his own up. 

Jason smiles wryly. "I was a horrifically ignorant boy when I was somewhat younger -- and rather a lot older -- than you all are now. I got better with the help of the demon who shares my soul, the ability to *travel*, and exposure to the various mages who have become my students over the centuries -- including an *Eastern* European Rom earth-mage named Eon --" 

Aramis rears back -- 

"-- who, with his mother Ferka, were the only two survivors from their tribe of a pogrom. This, Ferka assured me, was the only reason she agreed to allowing an outsider -- and an outsider like *me* -- to teach her son." 

Aramis *swallows* -- 

Licks his lips -- 

And nods. "Did you *need* to have Eon as your student before you stopped being prejudiced against my people?" 

"I believe it would be more *accurate* to say that I needed to come to *know* Eon and Ferka, and how they loved each other, before I could become... sanguine about the tendency of *certain* Rom peoples to bind their children at birth, and thus become sanguine about *other* people doing *similar* things," Jason says *blandly*. 

Treville *coughs* -- "Right, well, we didn't *know* we were enslaving Porthos --" 

"*Very* true, amant. Ignorance is -- occasionally -- an excuse." 

"Wait, wait, *what* --" 

"Your mother and I -- with her guardians' help -- bound ourselves together while you were in her *womb*, son. I -- you were -- well." 

Porthos stares at him.

*Aramis* stares at him --

"We'll... work it through?"

Porthos opens his mouth -- 

Closes it -- 

And then turns to Aramis and pets his hair with one hand and caresses his cheek with the other. "All right, love? I *really* didn't mean to blurt it all out like --" 

Aramis *stops* staring at Treville and nuzzles into Porthos's hand. "I do not think you *would* have if I had not been... dabbling in those places in your mind, my Porthos," Aramis says, laughing with rueful quiet and moving to nuzzle more and kiss and *lick* --

"Oh -- fuck, please do this all the bloody *time*," Porthos says, and returns the treatment in kind -- 

And Aramis's laugh gets much brighter -- 

Much lighter and *sweeter* -- 

Athos hums. "I've always enjoyed... this," he says, and turns to smile at him and Jason. 

"Yes, Athos...?" And Jason moves close enough to pet and muss Athos's beard that much more -- 

"Oh -- please --" 

"Anything. But tell us..." 

"I -- *this*," Athos says, and turns *just* enough to nod toward where Aramis is being pinned and nibbled and licked and nipped and nuzzled with *great* passion by an increasingly gleaming-eyed Porthos. Athos then turns back and *licks* Jason's fingers. "I want -- I like -- they can always make each other so *happy*." 

"You don't think you can give that to them, as well...?" 

"Not without disturbing them *horribly*," Athos says, and laughs breathlessly -- 

"It -- I -- oh, *yes*, my Porthos! -- it is part of your charm, my Athos!" 

"That, right there," Porthos says, or possibly something else -- he's chewing Aramis's hair. 

It -- hm. 

Jason looks to him. "Amant? Is something... oh, dear." 

"Noticed those lengthening ears, did you, lover?" 

"And that wonderfully *lush*-looking fur -- oh, *dear*." 

"Why don't you and Athos hold down the fort while I... hm."

"Yes, do, amant. If you would, Athos...?" 

"I... what..." 

"Nothing to be *terribly* concerned about, but your father is truly going to need to... discourage Porthos from shifting quite this soon." 

"Oh. But..." 

"Yes, I *agree*. But Porthos will need some training for that sort of thing *first* -- yes, especially before you aim him at your little brother." 

Athos blushes *violently* -- but allows himself to be tugged further toward the edge of the bed, which is good, and Treville can do what he *really* doesn't want to do -- 

What he should not *have* to -- dogs should have time and room to play!

Treville's dog agrees!

His dog is crooning and stamping in their soul-space -- 

Treville is clawing at the *duvet* with the need not to *do* -- but Aramis had just made a pained sound -- 

And a pained *scent* as Porthos's nipping -- *biting* -- teeth get longer and longer and sharper and -- 

Treville's dog stops stamping *immediately*, and they *both* reach for *Porthos's* dog in the wider soul-space, gripping tight and *hauling* the strong, beautiful, black-and-tan *mastiff*-looking -- 

How did *that* happen -- 

Treville's dog snaps at Treville until everyone is paying attention and *Porthos's* dog is firmly locked away. 

In *Treville's* kennel. 

Porthos slumps over Aramis *exactly* like a man who'd had half of his *power* yanked away -- 

"Ooh -- I -- my Porthos? What..." Aramis looks unerringly at *Treville* -- 

Treville smiles ruefully. "I -- and my dog -- just locked *Porthos's* dog up so he couldn't *hurt* you -- or Athos -- by accident." 

Aramis gives him a truly *venomous* look for that, and even with the remains of the paint smudged hopelessly, it's still somewhat mind-destroying. 

"*Believe* me when I say that I did not *want* to do that, son," Treville says, and tugs Aramis's spirit gently into his own, so that he can see the truth for himself -- 

"Oh -- *oh*. But I do not mind a little *pain*, my Treville!" 

"It would've been significantly more than a little *very* soon, son." 

"But --" 

Porthos pushes up onto his hands and gives himself a rough shake *over* Aramis. "I would've broken the skin with my next bite, love." 

"That is --" 

"Then I would've flipped you onto your hands and knees, bitten the back of your *neck* bloody, shifted all the *way* into a dog, and done my best to shove my unlubricated cock up your unlubricated *arse*." 

Aramis -- winces. "I... hm." 

"Yeah... uh. I'm *really* grateful right now for the *incredibly* fucked-up way I'm connected to Daddy, that I can now feel *all* of." 

Treville winces -- "I promise that this is the *only* way I'll use it against you, son." 

"How else *can* you use it against me?" 

"We're blood-bound, just as I was blood-bound to my Amina-love. Once I can teach you everything you need to *know* about blood-bindings, we can have a great deal of control over each *other*, but --" 

"Oh. Like this, Daddy?" 

"What --" And then there's nothing but fire, need, the *pull* in every part of him for his son, his son who is finally here, *right* here, and Treville can touch, pull him close, pin him to the *wall* -- 

Make him -- 

Make him *feel* -- 

Make him understand how long it's been, how long he's waited, how long *they've* waited -- 

Treville bites down on that long, strong throat, pushes one hand into those perfect curls and *grips* Porthos's cock with his other hand, and Porthos is moaning, crooning -- 

Cursing and bucking and -- laughing?

What -- 

And then the *pull* is gone, and the fire is no wilder than it's *ever* been, and -- 

And Treville can pull *back*. Let *go*. 

Lick his sweat-stinging lips --

*Shake* himself -- 

Pull back just a *little* further -- and breathe.

"Uh. All right, Daddy? Sorry --"

"For a moment, son... I forgot all the training you had before you came back to me." 

"I uh. Figured that," Porthos says, and his eyes are wild and bright, amused and pleased, impressed and *worried* -- 

"Son --" 

Aramis clears his *throat* --

They *both* turn to him -- 

And then turn to the other side of the bed entirely, because -- 

"Fffuck..."

Because that was Athos, but it wasn't enunciated, at *all*, which is just as much of an event as anything else tonight -- mm. 

Athos has his cheek to a pillow, his wrists and ankles bound by *especially* cruel-looking shadows, and Jason -- 

Treville's *beautiful* Jason, in beast-form, licking *all* the way into Athos's arse with that long and *thick* tongue while Jason *grips* at Athos's quivering thighs with those dark-clawed fingers -- 

He's not being very careful with them, either. There are little runnels of blood slipping down and down... 

Athos is sniffing and moaning and *sobbing* between slurred curses, and Treville -- 

Treville can hear himself growling. It -- 

Porthos smacks the back of his head. 

"All right, what did I do *that* time, son?" 

"Sorry about that, Daddy, but you were getting right fixated before answering our Aramis's questions and *concerns*," Porthos says, and lowers his chin. 

Treville takes a breath -- 

*Pants* for all the musk and spend -- no. 

He gives himself another *thorough* shake -- 

"There you go, Daddy --" 

"Right you are, son," Treville says, and turns to Aramis. "What do you need to know?" 

"What Porthos did to you a few moments ago..." 

"Mm? Ah. I can *absolutely* do that to him. He's strong, and he's well-trained, but I can tell that there are things he doesn't know about this. In the end, if I *want* to, I can put up blocks on my power that will keep Porthos from being able to yank me around by the bollocks, just as Porthos can keep me from doing the same to him. However, it would make us more vulnerable in other ways, to other *people*, and *Porthos* doesn't know enough other ways to counterbalance that vulnerability." 

Aramis narrows his eyes. 

"Would it make you feel any better to know that the dog inside me would not *let* us to do that to our beloved good boy?"

Aramis blinks and lifts his chin -- 

Porthos flares his nostrils and studies him -- 

"Ever, my Treville?"

"If he ever *wants* such a thing, and it wouldn't *hurt* him -- physically, spiritually, *or* emotionally, the way it would if, say, it forced him to ignore the brothers who mean *everything* to him --" 

"I -- I see this thing," Aramis says, frowning -- at himself. 

"Son," Treville says, and cups Aramis's face, forcing him to meet Treville's eyes *gently*. "Don't berate yourself for needing to negotiate. We all *literally* jumped into bed after less than two *hours* of conversation --" 

"I will not --" 

"At the *very* least? We can all agree that the relationships we mean to keep for the rest of our long, long lives are worth precisely as much care and effort as we can give. Mm?" 

Aramis blinks -- 

Blushes -- 

"I... perhaps it is somewhat difficult to... encompass the idea that you mean to keep *me*, my Treville," Aramis says, and gives Treville a very, very level look. 

Treville cups Aramis's strong, graceful hand and brings it to his mouth for a kiss -- 

"You have already done this --" 

"Your hands weren't the *first* thing I noticed about you -- that was the way you moved, and I cursed for how many promising young men were held back -- or handicapped -- by the fact that so many people believe that a man can learn *military* fencing in a *salon*." 

Aramis blushes *harder* -- 

"You met my eyes, then. Introduced yourself. I noticed your absolutely *unreasonable* physical beauty, and smacked myself around until I could do more than look stupefied and *available*. I already knew you'd had your share of that..." 

"I -- yes." 

"I watched your hands move as you spoke. I watched you try to *leash* them -- and the rest of your body -- so you didn't share *all* of your secrets with your body language. I saw blades on you, and *corpses*, and even just a few carefully-lightened scars from where you'd *learned* those blades... mm. Your mother?" 

"Yes -- yes. And her friends. Treville --" 

"I knew you weren't an assassin, son. You weren't *good* enough at hiding your violence from me. You didn't feel *enough* of a need to do it, even though I was an authority figure you had no reason to trust..." 

"I knew -- I knew your *history*, my Treville." 

"Among the many brothels...?" 

"*Yes*." 

"Mm. You were underestimating me," Treville says, and grins just as hungrily as he wants to.

Aramis reddens like a beet -- "My good mother -- she has scolded me for this thing." 

"There are any number of reasons why I vastly admire that woman... but. You showed me your violence. You showed me your *wildness*. You showed me your willingness to... shall we say, buck against the traces?"

"You liked this thing." 

"I loved it," Treville says -- growls. "I wanted you, son. Not *as* much as I wanted you in my regiment -- and in my Athos's *unit* --" 

"You -- you had already -- no, please keep *going* --" 

"Aramis. It is a *rare* recruit that I haven't chosen a unit for -- or started building a unit *around* -- before they leave my office." 

"Oh. I..." 

"Mm. I wanted you, and I had *no* intention of doing *anything* about that. Until --" 

"We -- came to you? Until we began *seducing* you?"

"I fell in love with you -- all of you. During that process, I began thinking of you as my *children* --" 

"Yes, yes --" 

Treville squeezes Aramis's hand just a *little* firmly. "Aramis. My *intentions*, as of five hours ago, were to thank Athos for beginning his program of pelting me with love and affection and *companionship*... and then gently urge him to stop *forcing* all of you to spend all your waking moments with a needy old man --" 

Porthos smacks him *very* hard. 

Happily, Treville saw it coming, and was able to release Aramis's hand before the smack landed, and so he did *not* yank Aramis along when he tumbled *off the bed*. 

It.

"Son. You might want to..." 

"Oh, I already know I've got to be more careful with my strength now, Daddy," Porthos says, and hauls him back up. "You just earned that pain." 

"Oh, yes, my Treville," Aramis says, and *looks* at him. 

Treville sighs and gives himself a shake -- 

Checks -- 

Athos is groaning and suckling at a shadow like a babe while Jason -- back in human form -- is working *three* fingers up that arse...

It...

Treville hadn't realized Athos was that *stretched* -- 

"You still can't go over there, Daddy," Porthos says, and grips the back of his *neck* -- 

Treville *and* his dog growl *hard* -- 

"*Fuck* -- I -- uh. I'll just..." Porthos moves his hand with *alacrity*. "I was just -- I mean, I *do* that. With Athos and -- you *know* --" 

Treville nods. "I know, son. That gesture is going to mean a lot more to *every* part of you from now on." 

"*Fine*. I'll grip you other *places*. Finish smoothing Aramis's feathers." 

"I do not have --" 

"You have the *most* beautiful plumage, love, and I could spend all bloody day looking at you." 

"I..." 

Treville takes advantage of that distraction to grip at the long hair at the back of Aramis's neck and pull him close. 

"*Fuck* --" 

"I won't let any of you go *now*, son..." 

"You -- how will you prove this!" 

"I'd let you wear my mark, but..." 

Porthos is, of course, growling *menacingly*. Even with his dog *imprisoned*. 

Aramis's eyes are *wide*. "What... my Porthos?" 

"He's not allowed to do that, love. Only I am." 

Aramis's scents are a *fascinating* blend of thrill, hunger, curiosity, *consternation* -- mm. 

Treville licks up the side of Aramis's face. 

"Unh --" 

"You can wear that mark of his, love." 

"But -- my Porthos --" 

"Anything I can cover." 

Treville licks up the *other* side of Aramis's face -- 

"Fuck --" 

"Anything I can *grind* in *under* my mark," Porthos says, darting in to nuzzle hard as soon as Treville gets out of the way -- 

"Oh -- *yes* --" 

"I won't stop marking you, son," Treville says, sniffing and snuffling behind Aramis's ear before biting *gently* -- 

"Ah -- *ah* --" 

"Oh -- Daddy --" 

"*Yes*, son," Treville says, pulling back and letting Porthos *put* Aramis down between them -- 

Porthos *immediately* bites right *there* -- 

"Please -- *please*," Aramis says, and -- "I wish to *know* --" 

"I won't leave you boys, son," Treville says, and starts biting gently all *over* Aramis's chest as the muscles flex and jump for what's to *come* -- 

Porthos growls and strokes over and over Aramis's mouth with one big thumb -- 

Aramis slurs a *plea* -- 

Treville bites Aramis's nipple *gently* -- 

Aramis bucks -- 

"I won't let you boys leave *me*. Not ever. Not ever again," Treville says, and he's panting, flushed, so *hungry* -- "Come take him, son. Come *have* him while you have the control to be *thorough*." 

Porthos's power *flexes* -- 

He shoves his thumb *into* Aramis's mouth -- 

And moves down and down, kissing and biting everywhere Treville had, sucking and *bruising* while Aramis begs and writhes and -- 

And Athos's scream is messy, slurred, loud -- 

Treville reaches for the scents of his spend -- not there. Not -- 

And Jason shares the image/sensation of a slim-sleek shadow sliding up and up and *up* Athos's cock, stuffing him *that* way -- 

Athos *barks* a scream -- 

"There you are, Athos... it's all yours..." 

Treville looks over in time to see him *thrashing* in his bonds -- 

In time to see Jason slipping in that *fourth* long finger -- 

"And so is *this*." 

Athos immediately tries to *shove* himself back on those fingers, flushing dark and *sweating* more -- 

"Oh -- oh, *good* boy. Do keep that up," Jason says, and *smacks* Athos's arse with his other hand -- 

Athos's mouth falls open even further around the shadow in his mouth -- 

He chokes a *desperate* "*yes*!" 

What on earth does he get *up* to with Thomas -- no, no, questions for later. For now -- 

For now Treville can turn back over, nuzzle and push at Porthos's hip, lick and kiss until he shifts over just *enough* -- 

"Mmph -- fuck -- will you --" 

"Oh, yes, son. Just enough to give you a path to *follow*," Treville says, and nips his way up the length of Aramis's cock -- 

Aramis screams and spreads his legs *precisely* as wide as they're letting him. That's -- 

Well, Reynard had had that reflex, too, when it comes to it. Treville makes a note to *share* with his pack, then gulps Aramis down, sucks just as hard as he can, urges him to fuck *rudely* -- 

Aramis gasps and chokes and *howls* -- 

Treville sucks in one pulse -- 

Two -- 

And then he can *feel* his Porthos, feel his *need*, and Treville moves, pushes Aramis over onto his side so that *Porthos* can reach that cock -- 

"My -- *my*! Oh, God! Please, my Porthos, *please*!" 

And Porthos is growling and nuzzling, grinding and *slurping* -- which makes it the *perfect* time to spread Aramis's beautiful arse and slip his tongue *right* in -- 

Aramis clenches and *howls* again, bucking between them once -- 

Again -- 

Again and again and *again*, for all that it's not the best position for either of them to show any *finesse* -- but Treville can hear Porthos *gulping* -- and it makes him need to shove deeper, lengthen his tongue even more, roll it and *whip* it -- 

Pant in all the musk, the sweat -- 

*Growl* for the feel of Aramis's strong fingers in his hair, clawing at his scalp, growl right into that clenching, flexing little hole -- 

Quivering little *hole* -- 

(Ah, fuck -- ah, fuck, *Daddy*, I can taste him *with* you --) 

Then give *me* his cock!

Porthos shares *immediately*, and Treville doesn't know if he's fucking or being fucked, doesn't know if he's tasting or being spattered with *slick*, doesn't -- 

But it's always better to suck -- 

(Yeah --) 

Always better to lap and suck and *pull* -- 

(Oh fuck *yeah* --) 

Make his boys *feel* him, always -- 

(Bloody *always* --) 

And now Treville doesn't know whose hands are where, doesn't know what he's gripping, clawing, squeezing and *testing*, doesn't know whose finger is sliding in next to his tongue, next to Aramis's cock -- 

(Just suck have to *suck* --) 

Have to *fuck* -- 

(That -- *please* --) 

And Aramis is shaking between them, shuddering and trembling, sleek with sweat and giving himself over to them, choking on his gasps so harshly -- 

Harsh little *pleas* -- 

Treville will never let him *go* -- 

(Never, Daddy -- and I won't --)

And then Aramis goes *rigid* between them, tensed and straining, desperate -- 

Needy and so -- 

Treville can *taste*, and neither he nor Porthos stops, they will not *stop* -- 

Aramis sobs and *wails*, and the scents of his spend make Treville *and* his dog drool, *slurp* at Aramis's arse, *need* -- until Porthos shares the flavours, gives them that *gift* -- 

(Daddy, *always* -- ) 

My -- my *sons* -- 

And Treville wants to say more, *needs* to say more, but he has to wallow, nuzzle, lap and lap as Aramis shakes -- 

Pets him with trembling fingers -- oh -- 

Treville pulls back and sucks those fingers into his mouth, warms them, *holds* them -- 

He can *feel* Porthos nuzzling up to Aramis's belly and breathing, just *breathing* -- 

"I. I will stay," Aramis says, and laughs with a bright, breathless madness. "I will stay in this place until such time as we have all negotiated something -- mm. Something much better. With my good mother." 

Right you are, son.

Porthos rumbles agreement -- 

"Oh, *look*, Athos: Your brothers and father can focus again." 

"I -- *I* --" 

"They can see what a whore you've become for me..." 

"*Please*, Jason!" 

"No...? Is it only this stretched, hungry hole that's the whore?" 

Athos makes a broken sound -- 

Treville rolls *over* -- and Jason is absolutely working his thumb in there. It. 

"Lover, has anyone ever explained the concept of the 'first time' to you?" 

"*Oh*, yes, amant. It's the occasion when one does one's best to *start* --" He pushes -- 

Athos *screams* -- 

"-- as one means to go *on*," he says, and *twists* as he pushes -- 

"Please, *yes*!" 

Aramis sits up -- with Porthos's gentle assistance -- "I am now *deeply* curious how you meant to go on with our *Treville*, my Jason." 

Jason shows many, many, *many* teeth -- 

"Right, well, I'm curious now, too, even though I *know* I'm the cat who's about to sodding die," Porthos says -- 

"Amant...?" 

Treville sighs. "Get that thumb situated, lover." 

"Anything you... *say*." 

Athos *howls*, arching his back into a bow as his forearms flex in the shadow-restraints. Sweat is dripping to the sheets, and there's a *puddle* of slick beneath Athos's stuffed cock. He's red, sheathed with sweat, *writhing* -- 

"Oh, Athos... I will remember this moment until I am dust," Jason says, and strokes over and over Athos's back with his free hand before reaching for Athos's cock and squeezing *hard* -- 

Athos *coughs* out a scream -- 

Another -- 

Jason *releases* Athos's cock and grips his hip, instead -- and gives Treville a *pointed* look. 

Treville tips his non-existent hat and turns back to Aramis and Porthos. "I wanted to bend for him -- and was absolutely too fucked-up with grief, rage, pain, loneliness, and bloody-mindedness to do anything of the kind. Jason helped with that." 

Aramis frowns. "There is nothing wrong with this!" 

"Yeah, Daddy. I don't think -- wait." Porthos frowns harder. "*How* did he help?" 

Jason laughs evilly and starts the process of *fucking* Athos with his fist -- 

Hard. 

*Hard*, and every *punch* of a thrust shoves a grunt out of Athos, makes him drool like a babe, makes him hang his head and *surrender*, and Treville... 

Well, it's *possible* that he's been harder some other night of his life than he is after bouncing around *this* bed *tonight* -- 

There are all sorts of possibilities inherent to nights he spent between, say, Amina and Reynard -- 

"Uhh..." 

"I promise to tell you boys *all* about it, son," Treville says, and turns back to grin at Jason. His coven and heart and *life* in *this* world which, before Jason came, was altogether too grey and sere and *lonely* to be worth... no. 

None of that. 

For *now*: "*Jason*, in the interests of helping me down onto my knees -- which is where you boys will recall I wanted to *go* --" 

Jason laughs even *more* evilly -- 

"-- *convinced* me, with some effort --" 

"Not *much*, as these things go..." 

"-- to let him *rape* me." 

"Ah." 

"Uhh..." 

"To say yes *once*... and not get even one more *hint* of a choice -- about *anything* -- until we were *both* fucked out and *I* was unconscious." 

Porthos frowns. 

Aramis frowns and *very* obviously turns things over and over on that internal laboratory table of his. 

"I should say," Jason says, and claws down Athos's back *slowly* while fisting him -- 

Athos's scream is juddering and *tortured* -- 

His cock flexes and jerks and *jerks* -- but -- hm. 

"Lover, is this what it smells like when someone's body tries to spend but *can't*?" 

"*Oh*, yes. You smelled quite similar that day... in your way," Jason says, and starts fisting Athos faster -- 

Faster -- 

And now Athos is all but presenting, giving himself over and -- 

And Porthos is swallowing. "I... really want. That." 

"Oh, yes, Porthos? Which part?"

"*Fuck* -- you -- uh. Hunh. Well, let me get back to you." 

"As you say. And as I was saying before, your father knew hardly anything about my powers and abilities when he said yes to me. He knew I could overpower him, but I daresay that it had been so long since anyone could *truly* do that... well. Even *that* knowledge was rather *vague*." 

"That it was, lover. Which is why, Porthos, I highly recommend that you get good and used to being preternaturally strong and *powerful* before you let Jason *truly* work you over. It's worth the... dissonance." 

Porthos gives him a wounded look *as* his cock gets that much thicker and doggier. 

Aramis... is absolutely adding components to the alchemical workings behind his eyes.

Well enough. Treville turns back to Jason. "*Are* you going to fuck him, lover?" 

"His mouth, amant. Once he is *truly* slack and helpless and pliant." 

"Fuck," Porthos says, quiet and hungry. 

Aramis makes a low sound -- 

Treville growls. "Then make him spend, lover. Give that to *all* of us." 

Jason licks his teeth. "As. You. *Say*," he says, turning his wrist just so -- 

Athos *jerks* his head up -- 

"Oh, *yes*, Athos. Here..." And Jason's thrusts are hard and short, sharp and *ruthless* -- 

Treville *knows* that every one of them is *torturing* Athos's pleasure-button with a knuckle -- 

Forcing Athos to *feel* that -- 

Forcing Athos to open inside, to *shake* inside, to *need* exactly what he's *getting*. 

And every noise out of Athos's mouth is an *attempt* to say *please*. Every noise is that much more broken, that -- 

And there's *that* scent again, that -- 

His body is trying to spend and Jason isn't *letting* it -- 

"*Fuck* -- I can smell -- oh, *fuck*," Porthos says, and *grips* his own cock -- 

Aramis moans and stares *fixedly* at Athos's stuffed and spasming cock -- 

Treville pants and licks his lips. "Next time, Jason. Next time -- let him." 

Jason shivers like a horse, staring into Treville's eyes as his own cock leaks like a *shifter's*, fills the air with *smoky* musk -- 

Treville growls -- "Fuck. Him. *Harder*." 

"*Yes*, amant," Jason says, and -- obeys, just obeys, *gives* it to Athos -- 

To Treville's *godson*, and oh -- 

Oh, but there isn't a single part of him which doesn't know how mad this would've driven his Laurent, his Marie-Angelique -- 

How they would've *ached* to make it go on and on just as long as their beautiful and mad son wanted to take it even as they would've needed it to stop, be eased, be *changed* to something more *gentle* --

Or, perhaps, something with *their* touches. 

It -- 

Treville growls more and *forces* that thought, that dream, that *knowledge* into Athos, makes him *know* it with every *part* of his beautiful soul -- 

His scream is wild, shocked, thrilled and *triumphant* even as his scents deepen and sweeten -- 

"Yes -- oh, yes, *now*," Jason says, gesturing with his free hand just *so* before reaching to grip Athos's *bollocks*. 

The shadow ribbons and *screws* its way out of Athos's cock as Athos's eyes widen and roll like an animal's -- and then Athos is bucking and shouting and *yanking* at the shadow-restraints as his spend all but *sprays* the bed. 

"Well, that's impressive," Porthos says. 

Treville nods judiciously. "Various non-human species -- like *us* -- tend to make that sort of mess as a matter of course, but..." 

"Yeah, that. I mean, 's not like he was pent *up*." 

"I believe, my Porthos, that our Athos was *inspired*." 

Porthos wags his head back and forth -- "Think I could inspire *you* that way sometime, love?" 

Aramis coughs. "I... was raised to have very strict standards about who could stretch me to what degree *when*, my Porthos." 

"I love your mother," Jason says as he begins to pull out.

"So much," Treville says. "*So* much." 

Athos gurgles.

Aramis *looks* at them. 

So does Porthos. 

"Oh, don't mind us, sons." 

"Yes, do go on," Jason says, and starts making low, soothing sounds for Athos's benefit. 

"*Anyway*," Porthos says to Aramis, "we *never* have to do anything you don't want --" 

"My Porthos... I believe, very strongly, that after a certain amount of open, honest, *clear* discussion with my good mother -- the sort of conversation which my Porthos excels at at all times! -- the question of who should *truly* make decisions about the stretch of my arse... well." Aramis smiles with a *shy* coquettishness. 

Porthos's eyes are shining more than they had when he'd gotten his *commission*. 

Maybe Claudette will help them all find rooms with a second double-sized suite.


	12. Show and Tell has a long, storied history. In bed.

"That *would* be for the best, I think," Jason says, and slowly -- 

Slowly -- 

*Slowly* works his hand out of its welcoming home. 

Treville sighs happily. So long as there's plenty of room in the master suite's sitting room for him to put up all the weapons --

"Those are uh. Those are a *bit* intimidating when I'm trying to feel all romantic, like, Daddy." 

"Right you are, son. We'll only make love in *your* suite." 

Porthos gives him a pained look -- 

Jason -- snickers. "Oh, Porthos, *do* ask him sometime about all the portraits and other memorabilia of his *first* pack which will be gazing down upon you -- *judging* you -- from *every* wall of *every* bedroom suite --" 

"Except this one," Treville says, and rubs at his moustache a little -- 

"*Except*, somehow, for *this* one," Jason says, and laughs absolutely reprehensibly. 

Treville feels himself *blushing* -- 

His sons are *looking* at him -- 

Except for Athos, who is looking somewhat... *dreamy*... hm. 

Treville pets his sweaty hair as Jason rubs and rubs at that stretched-wide hole -- 

Athos moans -- "I -- sir." 

"Yes, son?" 

"Mm. Mm..." 

"Give him a minute, lover." 

"If I *must*." 

Treville snorts -- coughs -- "You were saying, Athos?" 

"The portraits in my suite are -- are all of my *parents*." 

"*Very* true." 

"Perhaps... perhaps you could add one of Thomas? A *recent* one, I mean --" 

"To *judge* you, son?" 

Athos sighs -- dreamily -- and rests his cheek on the sweat-damp pillow beneath him. "Of course..." 

Treville bites *back* a snicker -- 

"We can all bloody *feel* it, Daddy!" 

"It's the thought that counts, brother," Athos says, and sighs again. 

Treville pets him. "Anything for you, son." 

"I -- wait," Porthos says. 

Treville checks -- yes, that's a scowl. He moves across the bed to get in smacking range, should Porthos find it necessary -- 

"Oh -- thank you, Daddy." 

"Anything you need, son --" 

\-- and to get out of the way of Jason rolling the good and *pliant* Athos onto his back, where he belongs. 

Aramis makes a *soft* sound -- mm. 

"Son," Treville says, cupping and petting Aramis's sharp-barbered beard. "I am *more* than willing to assist you in *reaching* a state that is *exactly* that pliant." 

"Oh." Porthos licks his lips. "And uh. Fuckable?" 

"*Usable*, son." 

They both watch Aramis's cock jerk and spatter a goodly portion of the bed -- 

"Yeah, you're not getting me out of here anytime soon, Daddy," Porthos says, and claws *promisingly* at the duvet. 

"You're my son, and you have right of first chewing on *all* the best spots on these sheets." 

Porthos beams like a particularly *mad* puppy -- 

And Aramis licks his lips and gives himself a *small* shake. "My Porthos." 

"Mm -- wha? What is it, love?" 

"My Porthos, I believe you were going to ask about the portraits in *your* suite. Suites, *plural*." 

"Oh -- *yeah*. Who's going to be judging *me* when I'm trying to have one off!" 

"Absolutely all of us, because I've already told you that you need to put that beautiful cock in *other* people's hands --" 

Porthos snorts, and smacks him -- 

Treville grins. "There's a magically-produced -- and *extremely* powerful -- portrait of your mother --" 

"*Oh* --" 

"-- *right* next door, thanks to Jason burning a very, very, *very* large favour, for me, with an artist who absolutely never works for *money*," Treville says, and raises an eyebrow. 

Porthos inhales sharply and turns to Jason. "Mate, I owe you *everything* --" 

"You do *not*," Jason says, and *looks* at Porthos from where he's straddling Athos's *chest*. 

Athos looks blissfully *dazed* -- 

"But --" 

"It was my pleasure to give my beloved something he had needed for a very, *very* long time. I..." Jason smiles softly. "I love being able to see her laugh... the artist is wonderful. It feels, for long moments at a time, as though I am right there with her. Sharing in her joy, and the joy she brought to everyone who loved her." 

Porthos nods and swallows twice -- 

Shivers -- stops. 

And frowns again. 

Treville hums. "Yes, son?" 

"I uh. Is Mum going to be *pointing* and laughing at me? You know, the way she did when she was *really* losing it for something funny?"

Treville grins. "It warms my heart to know how well you got to know your mother in the short time --" 

"Oh fuck." 

"Mm?" 

"My Porthos," Aramis says, and begins to pet those wonderful curls. 

"Oh, that's nice." 

"Yes? *Good*! My Porthos, there is no doubt in my mind that your mother -- your good mother who loved you! She would not laugh at the beautiful and mighty cock you have grown, and that you share so generously with the worthy." 

The three of them take a moment to study the cock in question -- Jason and Athos are somewhat occupied -- 

They *watch* Porthos's knot thicken and swell and -- mm. 

"Oh, my Porthos..." 

"Uhh..." 

"If you're still worried about how your mother would feel about that magnificent cock of yours, son, please do remember --" 

"How much she liked *yours*?" 

Treville flourishes. 

The three of them take a look at Treville's *entirely* canine cock, which is currently backed up by the desires of *two* hungry spirit-dogs, and which is just as red as red can be. 

Porthos smacks him. 

Twice -- 

Treville snickers *hard* -- 

"Right, though, no, I do feel better now." 

Treville coughs himself back to -- relative -- sobriety. "Good. About making our Aramis nice and --" 

"Usable. Fuck. Uhh..." Porthos turns to Aramis -- "Love, are you --" 

"I *am*, though you must promise to punish our Treville most harshly while I *cannot*." 

"I can *do* that, love," Porthos says, and turns back to Treville. "How d'you want to do this, Daddy? Have you had uh. Fantasies?" 

Treville grins. "Have you...?" 

"Of bloody *course* I have, but age before sodding *beauty*." 

Treville sighs. "You're just as belligerent as your mother." 

"I." 

"Here, let's turn our Aramis over onto his belly..." 

"I approve of this!" 

Porthos rumbles -- 

"I am *very* glad to hear that, sons," Treville says, and caresses a small scar over Aramis's right ribs. "Now let's lay Aramis out straight like... so. Yes, that's -- no, a little further from the pillows... good." 

"Right. I've known Aramis for years and I *still* can't deal with how *many* different angles his arse looks perfect at." 

"All of them, son. The answer is *all* of them." 

Aramis shivers -- 

"Now why don't you...?" And Treville *nods* at that arse for Porthos's benefit. 

"Yeah... fuck. Uh. What's my *dog* saying about all this, as an aside?" And Porthos unceremoniously spreads Aramis's legs -- 

Aramis *gasps* and spreads them *wider* -- 

Porthos sets up *between* and cups and squeezes and *caresses* that arse -- 

"At the moment, *your* dog is urging *me* to mount, son." 

Aramis coughs -- 

"Um." 

"He's a little confused in there. *My* dog is being very firm about the fact that *you* need to mount -- Aramis, that is -- while I take the time to mount everyone on this bed, in turn."

"... including my dog?" 

"*Just* so, son," Treville says, getting up on the pillows and pushing one hand into the waves of Aramis's thick hair while arranging Aramis's head on his lap. 

"*Oh* -- oh..." 

"How's that, son?" 

Aramis blushes like a boy. "I... have dreamed this..." 

"*That's* hot," Porthos says, and spreads Aramis's *arse* -- 

Aramis gasps again -- 

"That it is, son," Treville says, and tugs Aramis's hair just... so. 

Aramis moans and *hangs* his head the little he can manage -- 

And Treville rumbles. "Beautiful, son. Here," he says, and presses down on Aramis's lower lip lightly with the thumb of his free hand -- 

"Please -- I." 

"Please what, mm?"

Porthos is *staring* at Aramis's hole like it will escape if he *blinks* --

"I..." Aramis shivers and moans again, and doesn't move a muscle. "My Treville, my Porthos... I wish to know if it is... well." 

"If *what* is, love?" 

"Mm. Tell us," Treville says, and drags his thumb-callus over and over Aramis's soft mouth -- 

*Porthos* makes a guttural noise -- "Dreamed of that..." 

"Did you, now..." Treville drags his thumb more slowly. 

"Fuck --" 

Aramis moans and *shakes* -- 

"*Fuck*," Porthos says, and *grips* Aramis's arse. "I want --" He growls. "I've wanted to rub you *sensitive*, love. Rub you just a little bit *swollen*." 

Aramis bucks -- "Please -- I will -- I wish -- *mm* --" 

Treville presses Aramis's lips closed gently. "You have to tell us everything, son. Everything you *need*." 

Aramis groans and *shakes* more -- and then nods, once. 

Treville moves his thumb -- 

"I -- I will *drool* on my Treville's good fingers --" 

"That you will, son. All *over* them... among other things," Treville says, and smiles. 

"I will -- I am *sweaty* -- I have not perfumed my cleft for many *hours* --" 

Porthos growls low and *hungry* -- stops. "You're worried about being too dirty for us." 

"I -- perhaps. Perhaps not for our good captain... but." 

Treville snorts and *pets* Aramis. "Good instincts, son. Follow it through." 

"No, *don't* think right now, love. Just feel me," Porthos says, and *buries* his face in that arse -- 

Aramis *screams* -- 

His eyes are so wide -- 

His mouth is *wet* -- and it could be wetter. 

Treville presses *down* on that lower lip -- 

Aramis grunts and *slurps* -- 

"He's a dog, son. A dog with a dog's *appetites*. *Just* like me." 

Aramis looks up with questions, needs, *worries* -- 

"Even when his literal *spirit*-dog is all locked away, son. Even -- mm. Porthos, son, don't you want to *fuck* that arse with your tongue?" 

Porthos *barks* into Aramis's arse -- 

Aramis bucks and thrusts against the bed -- and then freezes, midway *through* the thrust... mm. 

"He's giving you his *long* tongue, isn't he." 

"I. I -- *please*!" 

"He's making you *feel* him," Treville says, and strokes down to Aramis's throat with his free hand -- 

Squeezes *gently* -- 

Aramis groans and *writhes* -- 

Porthos grips Aramis's arse more *ruthlessly* -- 

"Good boys. Good *sons*," Treville says, and checks -- 

Jason is feeding Athos his cock *slowly* -- 

So -- 

Jason is using every *ounce* of that inhuman control to make his fuck -- his *gift* -- something languid and endless and --

Treville is swallowing *for* Athos -- 

The shadows have taken Athos's wrists and ankles again, but he's not fighting, not -- 

The shadows are stroking Athos, petting him, massaging and *easing* him even as Athos moans and nods and suckles, suckles *sweetly*, one half-inch at a time. 

Mm. 

There are a *lot* of good ideas there. 

Treville turns back to Aramis and Porthos, and finds Porthos all but *grinding* his face into Aramis's arse as Aramis pants and nods seemingly *helplessly* -- 

Treville growls hungrily and tightens his grip on Aramis's throat. Not painfully -- only firmly. 

Just enough to make a *point*. 

Aramis looks up in gape-mouthed, *wet*-mouthed shock -- 

"I'll make you feel, too, son..." 

Aramis moans and grips at the duvet, tries to stretch toward Treville's fingers -- 

Treville licks his lips, arches up just a little to give his heavy sac some *room* -- "Is that so...? Do you need a little something more? To feel just right?" 

Porthos growls and *croons* into Aramis's arse -- 

Aramis *coughs* out a moan and gives Treville a *pleading* look -- 

And Treville is not capable of teasing. Not like this. 

Not *for* this. 

He grips Aramis by the hair and pulls him in, holds him, *holds* him even as he makes Aramis take his needy, drooling cock -- 

"Ah -- ah -- *mmm*..." 

"Oh, good boy -- good, *good* boy..." 

Aramis whimpers and sucks *hard* before he even has half, and that -- 

"Did you want me to give you the rest myself, son?" 

"Mm -- mm-hm, mm-hm --" 

"Did you want me to *force* you to *take* the rest?" 

Aramis's mouth falls open slack -- 

(His arse just flexed open, too, Daddy...) 

That -- Treville can't hold back a snarl. "You all make me so *hard*." 

"I think," Jason says -- *pants* -- "that you should show us *how* hard." 

Athos groans around his mouthful -- 

Porthos *slurps* at Aramis's hole while *lifting his arse* -- 

And Aramis looks up with pleading, hungry eyes again, needy and -- 

Treville growls and *shoves* in, deep as he can, *holding* Aramis in against the throb of his knot when he moves to make some *room* for himself, and -- 

Aramis is clawing at the duvet, muscles flexing and working all over his beautiful body -- 

His mind is a shout, a *need* -- and so is Porthos's. It -- 

(He's sharing with me, Daddy, making -- making me *feel* --) 

Oh, *son* -- 

(*Give* it to us!) 

"*Fuck* -- sons --" But Treville has no words to follow that, no *ability* to do anything more than shift his position into the *perfect* one to pull Aramis into every thrust of his cock --

Every -- 

Every hard and fast and desperate, *nasty* thrust of his cock, and it's rapidly becoming more of a rut than anything else, rapidly --

Treville is holding Aramis *still* -- 

Staring into those gorgeous amber-brown eyes, so dazed, so *happy* -- 

Staring into them and watching them smile for this, for *this* -- 

He can't bloody *stop* -- 

(*Don't* stop --) 

He can't -- he can't even slow *down* -- 

(Oh, Daddy, oh, Daddy, you're making us *both* drool...) 

Oh -- lick it *up*, son, lick it -- clean your *mess* -- 

(*Fuck* --) 

Give -- give your Aramis -- give him *everything* -- 

(*Our* Aramis, Daddy, our -- all of -- we're all --) And Porthos is panting, groaning -- 

"*Pack*, and I -- I can't -- I need you *all*," Treville says, and *grips* Aramis by the throat, holds him, *keeps* him -- 

"Will you *bruise* him, amant...?" 

Porthos *stops* groaning -- 

Treville gasps a laugh, cock spasming for the way it makes everything move within him, everything roll and *thrill* within him -- "Not... right away..." 

Jason *titters* -- 

Athos hums -- 

Jason gasps and *thrusts* -- 

Athos *strains* -- and Treville can *feel* his godson needing to touch Jason, needing to stroke and squeeze and *urge* -- 

"Ah -- ah, *fuck* --" And Jason gestures -- 

The shadows *fly* away from Athos's wrists and ankles -- 

And Athos flips Jason and *pins* him... not *especially* effectively, but well enough to drag *his* beautiful body against Jason's own before swallowing that long, thick, human-*looking* cock again -- 

Jason *groans* and strokes Athos everywhere he can reach -- 

Athos nods and strokes Jason's strong thighs, his hips -- 

Reaches to *massage* those bollocks -- 

And Jason is flushed, writhing under the *weight* of freely-given, *lovingly*-given touch, this weight that's taking him in all *ways* -- 

Treville can feel it all *through* him, every inch of his *skin* -- 

(I feel -- I feel it, too, Daddy --) 

And Athos is shivering even as he fucks his own face on Jason's cock, shivering over and over -- 

And Aramis is groaning in his chest, doing his best to spread his legs even wider *apart* -- 

"Amant, I -- *I* --" 

"Just -- just take it *all*, lover," Treville says, and *grinds* his knot in against Aramis's soft, pink lips -- 

Urges -- 

Aramis kisses him -- 

Kisses and *sucks* kisses -- 

Treville is gasping for it every time, rolling his hips for it, losing his focus for everything but the unreasonably beautiful man *taking* him and the *braided* scents of pack all around. 

The dogs inside him want him to know that all is good, all is perfect, all is *right*, and he agrees, he loves, he needs -- 

He *loves*, and he shoves in -- 

*In* -- 

Aramis *slurps* -- 

Treville *squeezes* Aramis's throat -- 

Aramis meets his gaze and all but *seals* his swollen-plush lips against Treville's knot -- 

Treville *bucks* -- 

(How's this then, Daddy...) And Porthos shares the *feel* of himself nuzzling his *beard* against Aramis's spit-slick hole -- 

Aramis tries and fails to *howl* around Treville's cock -- 

Treville shoves that last little bit *deeper*, frontal curve of his knot slipping *in* -- 

(Oh fuck --) 

Aramis scrapes his *teeth*, just there, just *there* -- 

And Treville is howling, bucking, *fighting* the urge to shove deeper still -- until Aramis *grips* his bollocks and the only thing he can do is spurt right down that throat. Just -- 

Give it to him. 

Give him *all* of it -- 

His looks so happy, so *wild* -- 

(Give -- give us the *taste*, Daddy!) 

Treville barks and *hauls* Aramis back and back -- there, oh there, paint his mouth, let him lap it *up* -- 

Aramis moans and swallows hungrily -- 

Athos makes a slurred and *garbled* noise around Jason's cock -- 

Porthos pants and pants and kneels *up*, shoving his thick and *wet* cock between Aramis's cheeks and starting to *ride* even as he licks his entire *face* -- 

"Yes -- oh, *yes*, amant, I --" And then Jason growls, turns his head, and starts biting at Athos's thighs -- 

Sucking and growling more -- 

Athos grunts and *shoves* against Jason's chest -- and then works his head on Jason's cock faster, harder, more *viciously* -- 

Treville wants -- everything, absolutely *everything*, and there's nothing to stop him but the necessity of letting mostly-human bodies rest *sometimes* -- 

Nothing to stop *them* but all the pain and shame and *doubt* they're peeling away, pushing *away*, and Treville can pull out a little farther -- 

Aramis makes a *mournful* sound -- 

Treville pants and lets his hand *flex* on Aramis's throat before easing his grip *enough* -- "Breathe, son. Breathe now." 

Aramis obeys -- 

Again -- 

Again -- 

And Treville growls and shoves right back in, *fucks* right back in -- 

Aramis makes a *blissful* sound, lashes fluttering -- 

"Bloody -- bloody *hell*, Daddy..." 

"Be *prepared*, son. Your -- your body is going to make the same *demands*," Treville says, fucking into that throat, into his *mess* -- 

Fucking that tight throat just a little -- 

A little *tighter* -- 

And then Jason growls low and *menacing* -- 

The room turns black and hot and *close* -- 

They're all gasping and getting *nothing* -- 

They're all *throbbing* and -- and *spasming* with Jason, *feeling* with Jason, *fucking* with Jason as he reams his way into *Athos's* tight throat -- 

Oh -- 

Oh, again and again and -- 

Oh, so -- 

Jason *snarls*, and if Treville hadn't been on his knees already, he would've hit the floor. He's reeling, shaking, spasming and *spitting* slick -- 

He can hear Aramis groaning -- 

He can *feel* Athos *quivering* -- 

And Porthos is growling out sharp little barks, one after another, as he fucks Aramis's cleft with what sounds like *most* of his preternatural speed -- 

As he gets *yanked* along by *Jason's* hunger, Jason's *pleasure* -- 

Treville is fucking Aramis's mouth too -- 

Too *hard* -- 

He can't -- "Jason, *now* --" 

Jason coughs and *gasps* -- and the sconces all flare at once, bright and tall and *worrying* --

And then Treville can't think about anything as piddling as his house burning down, because he's spending again, burning and howling and *spurting* again -- 

And feeling his entire pack doing the same *thing*. 

Aramis *coughs* as he jerks and *writhes* under Porthos -- 

Treville pulls *out* -- 

Aramis *whoops* in a breath -- 

And Treville grunts and spurts his last on Aramis's face and in his hair -- 

Porthos's head is thrown back in a howl as he *stripes* Aramis's back in hot, fresh spend -- 

And Treville can hear -- something from the other side of the bed. He turns -- 

Just in time to see Athos slump into unconsciousness and tumble to the side *mostly* off Jason's body. It -- 

Treville *checks* --

"No, amant, he did *not* ejaculate again. Not even a *little*," Jason says, gesturing the bit of blood that had escaped his mouth off his cheek... and into his mouth where it belongs. 

He licks his lips. 

He sighs in satisfaction. 

He uses the shadows to arrange and re-arrange his Athos-blanket until he's well and truly plastered with fucked-out Musketeer -- 

He sighs again and subsides. 

"All set, lover?" 

"*Oh*, yes --"

"What the bloody *hell* -- I mean -- *why* --" And Porthos does not actually *pause* in petting and massaging -- and massaging all the spend *into* -- Aramis to give that aggrieved look to Jason, which --

It bodes well for his mating *with* Aramis. 

"*Very* true, amant." 

"My -- *what*?" 

"We'll talk about that when Aramis has his intellect back, son," Treville says, and nods to where Aramis is cupping Treville's cock and purring softly. 

"Um." 

"I will return to my most wild and virile Porthos most... with most... mmm... mrrr..." 

"Fuck, that's hot. Uh. I'll just... keep molesting you, then." 

Aramis purrs louder. 

Treville nods judiciously and pets and strokes Aramis more assiduously himself. 

"Yes... yes, both of you keep that *right* up," Jason says, and sounds like he's luxuriating in a *bath* -- 

"I -- *wait*. Why the bloody hell did we all spend at once again?" 

"Ah, well. Athos asked me how he'd managed to make it happen the *first* time... so I endeavored to *show* him," Jason says, and smiles -- 

And smiles -- 

And *smiles* -- 

"You know we're going to need Athos back -- and *functional* --" 

"Eventually, son. *Eventually*." 

"Bloody *fine*," Porthos says. "But I call dibs on making him stop enunciating *next* time." 

"Right you are."


	13. A hive for the buzzin' bees.

With time --

And effort -- 

And a great *deal* of indiscriminate molestation -- 

They make it *under* the covers. They hadn't truly come to any great conclusions as to who should be *where* in the pile before tumbling in, but they do manage to get Athos in the middle, which is right and proper. 

The man won't be able to operate machinery any more complicated than his eyelids for a while -- they will *not* let him walk around without help just yet. 

Still -- 

*Still*, Treville *absolutely* has his nose buried in the fall of Jason's smoky hair -- 

"My *predictable* hound..." 

"That's me, lover," Treville says, and tugs on a lock with his teeth. 

"Mm? Daddy's big on redheads or something?" 

Jason's laugh is ribald -- 

"Son, I..." Treville turns over enough to meet Porthos's gaze. "*Three* of my Dad's strong, honorable, manly, perfect, et cetera, et *cetera* lieutenants were redheads." 

Aramis hums and reaches over to stroke a lightly ticklish path over Treville's ribs. "Our Athos has said his Uncle *Reynard* --" 

"*Fox*-red hair," Athos says dreamily, licking his bruised and swollen lips. "It was -- quite long. There were times when the longest strands reached the small of his back."

They look at him. 

"Did *you* fixate on your Uncle's hair, son?"

"It always seemed so exuberantly *impractical*." 

"I..." 

"It was *fascinating* to me that a man who would put so much time and effort -- *obvious* time and effort -- into making everything *about* himself into a weapon... well." 

"That makes sense, brother," Porthos says, then nods to him. "Was he, you know, like that?" 

Treville wags his head. "I think -- no, wait," he says, and gestures Porthos to lean in just a little -- 

"Daddy? What --" 

Treville meets his beautiful son's gaze -- and then, he'd wager, every last *one* of them feels Porthos's dog returning home. 

"*Fuck* -- I -- *fuck* --" 

"You're all right, son." 

"Too right, I am. I hadn't even realized --" 

"That you were feeling wrong. Incomplete?"

"Yeah, that!" 

"Be prepared, dear Porthos," Jason says, "for your dog to *teach* you and *guide* you in ways you had formerly only allowed very few people to do." 

"I -- oh. It was your dog who told you to do that just then, Daddy?" 

Treville hums. "It was less *speech* than a pointed threat. Series of threats, really. My dog is of the opinion that I've never grown intelligent enough to get off the teat." 

Coughs all around, except for Jason, who reaches within their shared soul-space to stroke Treville's dog, and promise, once more, to *help* the dog keep Treville from wandering into heavy traffic. 

The dog subsides in satisfaction. 

Treville sighs. "In *any* event. Reynard was a man who *absolutely* saw himself as a weapon -- a weapon to be held, wielded, and *honed* by the *worthy*." 

"Read: *Treville*," Jason says. 

"Oh -- that. Hm. That is somewhat... different? Hm." 

"It is a difference with many *possibilities*, my Athos," Aramis says, and cuddles closer to Porthos -- 

Porthos rumbles *and* growls. "Like the way you *think*, love..." 

"This is *good*, my Porthos --" 

"Wait, I -- hm." Athos licks his lips. "Are you suggesting that he kept his hair that way *because* you liked it so much, sir?" 

Treville rubs at his moustache... and shares a memory of himself sadly tucking a 'lock' of blood-matted, *mud*-matted, *knotted* hairs that *may* have once been red in his tunic as Kitos helps Reynard hack at the rest and Reynard growls out various blasphemous curses.

_"Not to worry, Fearless!" And Kitos hacks off another *mat*. "If he doesn't grow more fast enough --"_

_"Verrat! *Merde* -- you must not jinx us!"_

_"-- you can always just find *some* way -- who even knows how! -- to *fertilize* that mad head of his."_

Jason laughs hard -- 

Porthos *snickers* -- 

Athos *stares* at him -- 

And Porthos shakes his head and grins at him. "You couldn't even bring yourself to *help* get rid of all those mats, could you." 

"Son, I could barely have sharp objects on my *person* near that hair." 

Porthos splutters -- 

And Jason makes *his* hair grow and grow and *restrain* Treville, which -- 

"Lover, no one is getting *any* sleep tonight if you keep that up." 

Jason hoots and makes the hair *tighten* -- 

*Everywhere* -- 

"*Jason* –" 

"I -- sir," Athos says, and blinks at him earnestly. 

"Yes, son?" 

"Uncle Reynard had long hair. So did Uncle Kitos." 

"Yes --" 

"*Mother* had long hair." 

"I --" 

"Shit --" Porthos snorts and shares an image of Amina with her vast cloud of hair free of its scarves. 

"*Only* Father, of your first pack, kept his hair short." 

"Well... I..." 

His pack looks at him. *Hard*. 

Treville *sweats* and tries not to think about *anything* -- 

And then Porthos, his wonderful Porthos, *guffaws*. "s'all right, brothers. They've made us *sturdy* enough that we can *afford* to grow our hair out ridiculously." 

"Oh fuck." 

"Hm." Athos touches his tongue to his upper lip. "I suppose it *would* give Thomas something to hold on to." 

"And others, dear Athos," Jason says with a smile. "And others." 

Athos blinks -- and beams like a boy. "Yes, *quite*." 

Aramis hums and dips two fingers between Treville's chest and the *binding* of Jason's hair. 

Treville smiles wryly. "Yes, son?" 

"And what will you do to please *us*, my Treville?" 

And that...

Treville smiles, helpless and hungry for precisely what he *has* at long *last*. "Son. Name it. Only *name* it. And if I don't figure it out after that? Name it to my *dog*." 

Aramis blushes -- and smiles *softly*. "I believe I will take this and warm myself with it for many long nights, my Treville." 

Treville lets his tongue peek. "Do let me know if you *ever* get... cold, son." 

"I --" 

"He'll be fine," Porthos says, and lets *his* tongue peek. "We'll just wrap ourselves in hair --" 

"*Spend*-soaked hair," Jason says. 

"Oh, yeah, absolutely --" 

"I..." Aramis frowns. "I wish to bathe."

Porthos frowns. 

Jason *whips* out more hair and wraps it around Aramis -- 

"*Yee* --" 

"Oh, hey, nice, that," Porthos says. Or maybe something else -- he's chewing on the hair in question. 

"*Anytime*," Jason says, and reaches past Treville's cocooned body to grip Athos by the hair -- 

"Oh -- *yes* --" 

"There," Jason says. "*Now* we can sleep." 

Porthos slurs agreement -- 

Aramis wriggles closer to Porthos's teeth -- 

Athos sighs -- 

And Treville shifts until he can get more of that hair on his *cock* -- there. 

Sleep will come with warmth, and good scents, and love, and the never-ending *fountain* of gifts that is a second pack. 

He will disdain none of them.

end.


End file.
